Solstice
by WondrousStrange
Summary: Years after Voldemort's fall, Healer Diane McKenna just wants a normal, stable life. But when an old school friend shows up at her apartment with stories of strange disappearances, she is caught up in a plot of evil schemes and dark magic.
1. St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies

Diane McKenna hated waking up before her alarm went off. When she opened her eyes and the hands of the clock were bent into the narrow angle of five-twenty in the morning instead six-o'clock's no-nonsense straight line, she knew that there was no point in trying to fall back to sleep. She could burrow back into her blankets all she wanted, but no matter whether she put a pillow over her head or turned over a million times to try to get comfortable, sleep would refuse to return.

This was one of those mornings. Diane rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling of her modest apartment, trying hard not to look at the clock again. The worst part of lying awake in the morning was waiting for the alarm to finally go off. The anticipation of the shrill tinkling of the bell mounted and mounted, until she looked at the clock again to see that only a couple of minutes had passed.

The sixth time she did this, Galen, her barn owl, gave a disapproving hoot from his perch in the corner of the room.

"Fine!" she snapped, finally throwing off the covers. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you _up_, Mister Fussy-Feathers! It's not my fault that time decided to go at a flobberworm's pace this morning."

As she stalked into the bathroom, Galen cooed contentedly and stuck his head back into his feathers.

Diane had the morning routine down to an art form. First, into the bathroom to splash some water in her face and pull herself together. Then, the stretching and strength exercises she had frequently performed back in the days when she still played quidditch. In the past, she had sometimes even taken time in the morning to cast a disillusionment spell and go for a quick ride around the city on her broomstick, but she hadn't done that in months. Long hours and lots of responsibility at St. Mungo's were catching up with her: she wasn't a trainee anymore, and she didn't have as much time or energy as she used to.

After the brief exercise, a cold shower was followed by breakfast. She would eat, leisurely read the mail, and finish up any paperwork she had neglected the night before, and then pull her hair back and put on her Mungo's greens to set off for work. Those few minutes spent at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea at her elbow and the paper in front of her made up her favorite part of the day. The low light of the early morning and the quiet in the air made everything seem orderly and manageable, as though all of the pieces of her life were slipping predictably into their places for the day.

She was finishing the _Daily Prophet_ (_"Officer in Department of Magical Law Enforcement Disappears, Son Implicated in Possible Murder"_ the headline had proclaimed, though Diane had skipped to the zoological section, and then to the crossword, which was even more fiendishly difficult than normal), when an envelope fell out of the classified section at the back of the paper.

"Galen!" she called, lifting the envelope between thumb and forefinger. "What in Merlin's name is this?" The envelope was a curious shade of pink, and mildly scented with what seemed to be something floral. The smell grew stronger when she broke the seal.

_Dear Sis,_

_It's been so long since I've seen you! We've written from time to time, of course, but I don't think I've actually visited with you at all since the wedding. It's not as though Benjamin and I live very far from London – you could come see us for Christmas this year! Don't worry: I don't really expect you to come. I've invited you twice now, and if you were going to spend Christmas with us, you would have. But the offer's always open; maybe one of these days you'll realize that you need some company after all and give in. _

_Right now, however, I have a different invitation that I hope you _will_ be willing to accept. I'm in town on business (to put together an advertising campaign for the Gladrags location in Diagon Alley – personally, I think they're crazy to try to seriously compete with Madam Malkin's), and so I thought that we could get lunch together! Maybe at that adorable new café? It'll be so exciting! We haven't done anything like this in so long, and you can tell me all about what you're up to at St. Mungo's. It'll be my treat! After all, what are sisters for?_

_Let me know when you're available. If you don't, I may just have to show up at St. Mungo's to tear you away from all that boring hospital work. I'm not leaving London without seeing my favorite sister!_

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Fiona Moore_

Diane sighed, and stood up to get some parchment so she could write a reply. She really hadn't seen her sister in a long time. She hadn't seen _anyone_ in her family in a long time. Or anyone who she knew outside of work at the hospital. She and her younger sister might clash a bit in personality, but maybe Fiona was right. Maybe she did need to get away from her work more.

She woke Galen to tie her brief reply around his leg, and he clicked his beak at her in annoyance.

"Come on, Galen," she reprimanded him. "This is your _job._ You can't always just sleep all day. Now, get this to Fiona _quickly._ Otherwise, she's likely to show up at St. Mungo's this afternoon."

She opened a window, and Galen soared through it, brushing the top of her head with his wingtips.

"Uppity owl," she muttered, smiling a little despite herself as she watched him disappear. "Now, I need to get to _my_ job."

* * *

At eight-thirty in the morning, the Scamander Ward for Creature-Induced Injuries was already getting crowded. It seemed as though Diane had been administering Doxy antivenom since she had arrived at work: a large family had uncovered a sizeable infestation when cleaning out a spare bedroom.

"Is that all, then?" asked the weary mother as Diane tried to get the youngest of the family, a little girl of about two years, to swallow the antidote. "Cousin George will arrive in a couple of hours, and we still need to find a way to tidy up that room."

"Listen," Diane replied as the toddler finally downed the potion without spitting up on her, "Go up to the top floor, and get Liz Blackwell in Potions and Plants to give you some Doxycide. It'll be compliments of the hospital if we don't have to deal with this again."

"Thank you so much," said the mother as she and her husband began gathering together their many children and filing out.

"While you're up there," Diane called after them, "Would you ask Ms. Blackwell to brew up some more Doxy antivenom? That's the last of this batch."

She could already tell that it was going to be a long day. With her arms folded across her chest, she paused a moment to watch the family leave before diverting her attention to a man who had sustained some moderate burns from an ashwinder in his basement.

As she was using a severing charm to cut away the charred remnants of the man's pant leg to get at his scorched shin, someone tapped her on the arm.

"Careful!" she snapped over her shoulder. "If my wand's not steady…"

The apologetic face of a young man stopped her mid-sentence. She whirled around, wand raised threateningly.

"Jack Watson!" she barked, fighting to keep her voice level while in front of a patient. "Do you have any idea what _time_ it is? It's nearly nine-o'clock. You're over an hour late!"

"Good morning to you too, Boss," Watson replied sheepishly. He was a good-looking young man, with a clean-shaven, almost feminine face and straight brown hair. Under Diane's icy gaze, his mouth turned into a guilty, hopeful half-smile which seemed roguishly charming under the bemused wideness of his blue eyes. Unfortunately for him, she was having none of it.

"What do you think you're doing? Do you really think you can just waltz in here this late and expect to get away with it?"

"Well," he replied, grinning more widely, "I figure that you're usually here so early that it makes up for me being so late."

Diane tried to resist the urge to hex him. "Do you even _care_ about ever becoming a real healer? What do you think you're _here_ for?"

"Fine! Alright, alright…" He held up his hands, eyebrows raised so high that it seemed they might disappear into his hair. "I'm sorry, Healer McKenna, ma'am. I promise it won't happen again."

She turned back towards the ashwinder victim, rubbing her temples. "We'll deal with this later, Watson. Just do your job for now: help the patients."

* * *

During lunch in the small hospital cafeteria, Diane spread paperwork over one of the round tables. Around her, other Healers causally chatted about hospital gossip and strange cases. Jeremiah Salk, the head of the Research Department, was showing around his new trainee, a pretty young Indian girl with a long, thick braid. A few tables over, Watson was exuberantly relating to Augustus Pye and Christopher Nidos, newly instated young Healers from Artifact Incidents and Dragon Injuries, respectively, the events of the night before that had led to his lateness that morning.

Diane let the hum of conversation wash over her as she chipped away at the tedious work. She was just finishing the report on the Doxy-bitten family from the morning when a balding, round-faced man stormed over to her table.

"What's the big idea, McKenna?"

"Excuse me?" She looked up from her papers into the pink face of Mark Abbott.

"You can't just go around giving away hospital supplies. This hospital has a limited amount of funds, and you hotshot healers think you can just throw valuable potions out the window when the urge hits you. Well, let me tell you, you spendthrifts make my job up in bookkeeping much more trouble than it's worth."

"Abbott – _what are you talking about?_"

"The Doxycide that you gave away this morning! Don't pretend you don't know!"

Diane pinched the bridge of her nose. "Abbott, that was just _Doxycide._ One bottle. It cost maybe two sickles."

"Well, McKenna, that was two sickles that _I_ now have to account for."

"What's the big deal? I'm meticulous about my reports; the rest of the staff usually forgets to include all sorts of stuff in their write-ups."

"I resent that!" called Watson, casually walking towards them.

"Because!" yelled Abbott. He seemed strangely close to tears. "You can't just give things away."

"Here, then." Diane dug in her pocket, impatient to get him to leave her in peace. She deposited two coins on the table. "That should cover it, right?"

Abbott scooped up the little silver pieces, and then sat opposite her at the table, his head resting in his hands. Watson had reached them, and now stood just behind Diane's shoulder.

"Mark," he asked quietly, "What's going on?"

Abbott's energy appeared to be spent. "The Ministry's cutting funds to the hospital. By a lot. I just finished the projected budget for next year last week, and now…" his voice trailed off.

"Did you hear it from Mama Theresa – _ow!_" Watson was cut off as Diane elbowed him hard. "…I mean, from Mrs. Bonham? Do we know this for certain?"

Abbott nodded. Other Healers were gathering around now, expressions of shock on their faces. "The Chief-of-Staff herself told me a couple of hours ago. Mrs. Bonham says we may have to cut jobs, maybe even get rid of the entire trainee program."

In the sudden silence that enveloped the area around their table, the clock in the corner of the cafeteria struck one in the afternoon.

Diane pushed her chair back, and collected her paperwork, trying to keep her hands steady. "Come on, Watson," she said quietly. "We need to get back to work."

As he followed her out, she heard the soft murmur of conversation resuming, overshadowed by a single question.

"Why?"

* * *

"So, Boss." Watson appeared, smiling, at her elbow as she turned away from a patient. "With these budget cuts…"

"Everything will be fine, Watson," she said distractedly, heading to her small office.

He followed. "What do you think a young trainee like me has to do to keep his job safe?" She ignored him, thumbing through some files behind her desk. "How about if I sleep with you? Would that help secure my position here?"

She turned quickly on her heel. Watson was standing in the doorway, the door pulled halfway in front of him as if to protect him from a hex or a blow, a crooked, mischievous smile on his face. She glared at him.

"Don't think I've forgotten what you pulled this morning," she warned. "You better get back to work if you value your job. You're just a little trainee, and you're going to have to pull your own weight if you don't want your Healer-in-Charge to get rid of you. I'm the one with the power to decide if you should go, you know."

"Which means you also have the power to decide if I stay, right?" For once, Watson's face was serious.

Diane felt her expression soften. "Yes, Jack. Nothing's going to happen to you unless I give permission." His smile returned. "But sleeping with me would _not_ help you, and that was offensive and inappropriate. Now, go do your job and help the patients."

"How about dinner, then?" laughed Watson, closing the door rather quickly behind him.

Diane shook her head. One day, that kid would have to realize that he needed to grow up and act like a professional. He was always teasing her like that. Despite herself, she felt the beginnings of a smile creep across her face. Even if she disliked Jack Watson's work ethic, he certainly was bright, and she _had_ found him to be useful around the ward. His bedside manner was better than hers, too: he had handled beautifully the case of that poor little girl who had been attacked by a Red Cap last month.

She sighed. If only she could get him to stop acting like such a _child_, he would have the makings of a great Healer…

_He's not that much younger than you,_ she suddenly found herself thinking. It was a strange thought, to be sure. But she wasn't even thirty yet, and Watson _had_ started his training later than normal…

She shook herself out of her reflections. Regardless of their actual age difference, Jack Watson would have to do a lot more growing up before he so much as _joked_ about taking her to dinner.

* * *

"Did you _walk_ here?" exclaimed Diane in disbelief as she faced her next patient.

Elderly Mister Rosencrantz squirmed a bit under her gaze. "Well…I didn't see nothin' wrong with it."

"Sir, your leg is made of _stone_. Now, I've treated plenty of Medusa Worm bites, and it's easy enough to stop it from spreading to the rest of your body, and only a bit more difficult to make a Mandrake draught to get you back to normal, but what if you had chipped your leg on the way here? Or broken it off? If you had somehow shattered it walking over, there would be nothing I could do for you!"

"No need to get so angry, young lady," the old man grumbled. "And besides, I needed to get to the hospital quickly!" He paused, a little choked up. "Peaches got bit too!"

"Peaches?" Diane could feel a headache coming on.

Mister Rosencrantz nodded anxiously, reaching over to his bedside table where a large cardboard box sat. He undid the bit of twine tying the box closed, and then dug through endless packing peanuts and at least five pillows before encountering what he was after.

"Here she is!" he exclaimed, and Diane bent over to look, dreading what she might see. Cradled in the old man's hands was a little statue of a cat, made completely of stone except for a tiny tuft of orange fur at the end of its tail.

Diane rubbed her temples. "You took the time to make sure your cat was protected from breaking, but didn't bother to do the same for your _leg_? No, don't answer. It's fine now, I suppose. Stay in the bed while I go see if we have any Mandrake draught on hand for you and…Peaches."

Diane left Watson in charge of the ward while she headed up to Potions and Plants. After striding past a row of administrative offices, she opened a door into a small, smoky room.

"Diane!" exclaimed a female voice from somewhere within a cloud of foul-smelling yellow mist. "Hold on, let me just add this one last porcupine quill…"

A tall, thin witch emerged from behind a large cauldron, curls of black hair plastered to her high forehead and pale skin shining beneath a sheen of perspiration. Protective goggles were pushed up on her forehead, but they had left marks across the bridge of her nose and around her intelligent brown eyes.

"Hi Liz." Diane waved to her friend, maneuvering around a shelf of multicolored glass vials. She and Elizabeth Blackwell had been in the same year at Hogwarts, and although being in different houses had made it difficult to be more than friendly acquaintances during school, they had grown much closer when they both started to work at St. Mungo's after graduation. "Do we have any Mandrake draught?"

"Nope," Liz replied after pausing to think for a moment. "We do have mature Mandrake roots, though. Unfortunately, you'll have to make the draught yourself. They're having a bit of a dragon pox epidemic on the second floor. I've been making Dragon Syrup since I got here this morning. Even Anna's getting pretty frazzled."

Diane let out a low whistle. Anna Gray, a pragmatic, silver-haired witch, was one of the oldest and most talented Healers at St. Mungo's. The folks down in Common Maladies must have it pretty bad.

"The Mandrake roots are in that cabinet over there." Liz gestured towards an imposing oak cabinet with many drawers of various sizes. "I think that they're in the bottom left-hand drawer. If not, then try the opposite corner." Diane bent down to look. "What are you doing looking for a Mandrake draught, anyway? Aren't the boys in the Petrification and Paralyzation Ward supposed to handle stuff like that?"

"The guy's leg is the only thing that's turned to stone," Diane replied, "So they shunted him over to me. His _cat_, on the other hand, is completely petrified, but I don't think he would appreciate it if I put them in separate wards. He seemed very attached."

"A cat? Really? Wow." Liz had her goggles back on, making her eyes seem many times their normal size. Peering out of her cloud of smoke, she looked more than a little crazy. "I do wish I could help you out more, but I'm just completely swamped."

"It's not a problem. Potion brewing can be pretty relaxing, and it's nice to get out of the ward." She found the shredded Mandrake and brought it over to a spare counter to begin work. Liz eyed her shrewdly as Diane set up her cauldron.

"So you left that Jack in charge?"

"This is what he's training to do. I think he can handle himself."

"He's quite the looker, isn't he?"

Diane's hand slipped on the knife she was using to dice some rat tails. "Excuse me? He's a _child._ And your coworker. And my student."

"He's not that young." Liz shrugged, and the yellow cloud surrounding her rose and fell with her shoulders. "I mean, he started pretty late, didn't he? I think he's turning twenty-four soon."

"And _I'm_ turning _twenty-nine_ soon. That's a pretty big difference. Beside, he _acts_ like a teenager." She stirred the thickening potion a little more vigorously.

"C'mon, Diane. When's the last time you went on a date, anyway? Probably not since you were with Jason Clearwater back in school – am I right?"

"For a bookworm Ravenclaw, you sure seem overly concerned about my social life."

"What can I say?" Liz laughed. "We knowledge-seekers can be pretty nosy."

"Besides," Diane gingerly added the shredded Mandrake root into the cauldron. "I think we all have more important things to worry about than some cute trainee."

Liz's face darkened. "Yeah. I can't believe what happened. I mean, we've had some budget cuts before, but if Mark Abbott's telling the truth, it's never been on this scale. I can't believe Mama Theresa would let this happen."

"She doesn't like it when we call her that," Diane remarked dryly.

"Well, Theresa Bonham's a great chief-of-staff. Usually, she really sticks up for us when the Ministry starts complaining about something – like a mama bear. We don't mean it offensively. I just don't see how she could let this happen."

"It sounds like she didn't have a choice. Maybe there's even a good reason for it."

"For someone who's usually pretty damn cynical, you really are willing to forgive a lot of those in authority."

"No, but we don't know what's going on. It hardly seems fair to condemn them before we hear the whole story." Diane bent down to sniff her bubbling concoction. Perfect. She started to spoon some of it into a glass beaker.

"Maybe you should have used that logic when Jack came in late this morning. From what I hear, he had quite a tale to tell." Liz ducked the handful of jellied slug parts that Diane chucked at her, laughing.

"Excuse me, but I have a cat to cure." Gathering up her beakers of Mandrake draught, Diane swept out the door, chin held high as Liz's giggles faded away behind her.

* * *

Galen hooted softly from his perch on the counter to welcome her home that evening, apparently having already forgiven her for waking him early that morning.

"Hello to you, too," Diane replied wearily, laying her keys down on the kitchen table on top of a small pile of paperwork. She stood in the center of the kitchen for a moment with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Galen fluttered over to her and landed gently on her shoulder, leaning affectionately against her ear.

"I guess I'm starting to feel a bit ground down, buddy," she confessed to him, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. When she turned on the tap, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small window above the sink. She let the water run for a moment, running a hand over her face.

She looked as tired and worn as she felt. Her washed-out blonde hair was pulled back into a plain, tight ponytail, which only accentuated the sharp, high angle of her chin and the dark circles below her hazel eyes. The lime-colored robes hung limply across her too-broad shoulders and too-flat chest. Diane had always been muscular and leanly built, but now, for the first time she could remember, she looked thin, severe. She tried to draw herself up, to make the most of her average height and present herself as determined and business-like.

Galen clicked his beak at her.

"I agree," she conceded. "It's really no use tonight."

Sipping her water, she turned on the radio and headed towards her bedroom. Maybe tonight she would actually work on that paper she had planned to write for _The Practical Potioneer_. Being published could do wonders for a wizard's or witch's reputation, and if the situation at Mungo's was as bad as it seemed, this might make the difference between keeping her job and spending the next year poring over _The Daily Prophet's_ classifieds…

When she opened the door, her eyes widened. The glass of water hit the ground with a thud, flooding the carpet as she drew her wand. Her lamp was lit; the cabinet where she kept potion ingredients and medical supplies was thrown open and looked as though it had been rummaged through, and many of her books were strewn across the floor. But what caused Diane to stand gaping in the doorway to her own bedroom as she tried to puzzle out just what was going on was the man.

There was a red-headed man in her apartment. On her bed.

"Don't!" he gasped as she narrowed her eyes and raised her wand. "Please don't attack!" He raised his arms feebly. "I'm not armed!"

He was bleeding heavily from a gash that ran across his shoulder and upper arm, and his brown eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing on anything for more than a moment at a time. There was something familiar about that freckled face…

Diane lowered her wand.

"Charlie Weasley!"


	2. Fiendfyre

Diane advanced cautiously, wand lowered but still gripped firmly, and tried to take in the scene in front of her. Charlie Weasley lay sprawled across her bed, his clothes torn and bloody. He appeared to have been trying to bandage a badly injured right shoulder, but the wound was wrapped loosely and messily, and it was already starting to bleed through the dressings. As she got closer, she saw that an angry, oozing burn spread along the back and side of his neck and down behind the opposite shoulder. His ankle was bent into a strange angle, and the side of his face looked dark and swollen even in the dim light.

She had neared almost to the point where she could touch him. His eyes were not entirely focused as he watched her approach; when she finally stopped directly in front of the bed, he rolled his head back woozily and blinked at her a few times.

"Hey, Diane." A muscle in his jaw twitched in a way that meant pain, and she dropped all misgivings and sat on the bed beside him.

"Lie still," she commanded. "Let me see if I can fix the horrid job you've done on this shoulder." Carefully, she pulled aside the bandages. Underneath, the gash bit deep into his flesh, stretching from the taut muscles of his neck and shoulder down across his chest.

"_Tarda Cruorem_," she murmured, passing her wand gradually along the length of the wound, and then repeated the incantation when she reached the other end before working her way back up. Charlie let his head roll backwards, closing his eyes as she worked.

She paused. The injury still gaped across his skin, but blood had stopped flowing from it. "Charlie," she asked, voice stern, "How did this happen?"

"'s a long story," he replied through gritted teeth.

"You were cursed." There was no question in her voice. "The wound isn't responding as it should be because it was designed to resist normal healing; someone attacked you with dark magic."

He looked at her without answering. She sighed.

"I guess the story can wait. I can fix it, but there'll be some scarring, and I need to clean it first. This might hurt a bit. I'll give you something for the pain."

She rose from the bed, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She turned to look at him, and he held up an empty glass vial. "I think I already used all of it."

"What?" She snatched the vial from him. Sure enough, written on it in her own neat handwriting were the words _Dolor Elixir_. "This had twelve times the normal dose! You shouldn't have needed all of it for that gash! What were you thinking?"

"Not for my shoulder." He tilted his head backwards stiffly. "My back."

Leaning over him, she carefully helped roll him onto his front, using her forearm to support his wounded shoulder and chest above the bed. His shirt hung in tatters, already mostly destroyed; it didn't take her long for her to remove it entirely. When she had, she drew in a quick breath.

The burn she had seen on his neck extended all the way down his back and continued until it reached his waist. In places, the skin was shiny and blistered, but mostly it was charred and black, entirely destroyed. There was a purple sheen to the burnt area that Diane didn't like the look of at all. Gently, she reached out a hand and touched an area of unmarred skin at the edge of the burn. Charlie groaned, his face pressed in Diane's sheets; the skin was ferociously hot to the touch. As she scrutinized the injury with a more wary eye, she saw exactly what she feared: in places, the edges of the burn seemed to be moving, advancing…

She knelt at the edge of the bed by Charlie's face and he shifted to look at her.

"I'm amazed you haven't passed out yet," she said softly. "Later, I'm going to want you to explain things," Charlie's eyes shifted uneasily away from hers. "But right now, I need to put you under in order to better treat you." She laid a hand across his forehead and put her wand by his temple. "Just relax. Don't resist me."

She closed her eyes and muttered a few words. Slowly, Charlie's eyes began to unfocus, then to shut. When she looked up again, he was breathing deeply in a magical sleep.

With Charlie unconscious, Diane let her emotions briefly flood over her. She had no idea what was going on, what kind of trouble Charlie was in. She hadn't seen him in years, and now…for him to show up at her apartment, under these circumstances…She glanced over at his motionless form, at his glistening, blackened back, and he moaned a little in his sleep. Diane felt suddenly overwhelmed, weighed down by helplessness.

She closed her eyes and breathed in, out. _Pull yourself back together_.

"I need another pair of hands," she said aloud, and grabbed a sheet of parchment. After scribbling a quick message, she called to Galen.

"I need this delivered _quickly_, alright? I don't care if he's sleeping, or with some girl, or at a bar, make sure he gets this and don't come back until he's on his way over here. It doesn't matter if you have to bite his ear off, _make sure he comes_." Galen regarded her for a moment with silent round eyes, and then set off through the open window.

"Alright," Diane whispered to herself. "Let's hope I know what I'm doing, Weasley."

* * *

Diane was applying Murtlap essence to Charlie's back while trying to keep stirring the potion she was brewing when she heard a small 'pop' come from the kitchen.

"Finally," she breathed, wiping sweat from her face before calling out, "In here, Watson!"

"Hey, Boss!" Watson strode into the room. "What the hell is going on? Your note wasn't clear at all, and that bloody owl of yours wouldn't leave me alone!" He paused, looking around the room. "Who is _he_?"

"An old school friend," Diane replied impatiently. "He got into some trouble, and I need another pair of hands to help fix him up." Jack moved closer, peering curiously over her shoulder at Charlie. "I've got to make an ointment for his back: I think that's the only way it stands a chance of healing. Meanwhile, I need you to watch him and put Murtlap essence on the burns. Apply a freezing charm around the edges every five minutes or so, but do _not_ put water on it. That'll just aggravate it."

Jack's face whitened and his eyebrows shot up. "This burn is from Fiendfyre."

"Well," Diane sighed, turning to concentrate on her potion. "I'm glad that you've learned _something_ about healing while you were studying under me."

Mechanically, Watson grabbed the bowl of Murtlap essence and gently began smoothing it over the destroyed skin. "What happened? Who is he, really? Some sort of criminal?"

"No!" Angrily, Diane blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Like I said, he's an old school friend. I don't help criminals!"

"Well, that must be _some_ trouble he got in if he was running into Fiendfyre. That's really dark magic." Diane concentrated on adding the right amount of Yeti hair to her small cauldron as Watson plowed on. "He might not recover; I mean, that potion you're brewing is supposed to be hellishly hard, and…"

"Watson!" Diane snapped, feeling her temper getting the better of her. "I know what I'm doing! Merlin's _beard_, do you never know when to just _shut up_?"

"Sorry," Watson replied in a rather small voice. Diane bit her lip and stirred her potion carefully, trying not to think too much.

* * *

The hours stretched on. Diane felt the sweat running down her neck as she worked on the potion, sitting in the middle of a haze of heat and smoke. Once, she realized only just in time that she had been about to add dried nettles when she was supposed to be using peppermint, and although she had caught the mistake, the taste of panic had remained in her mouth long afterwards.

Seated on the bed beside Charlie, Jack lacked entirely the attitude which he usually gleefully displayed. In caring for his patient, he was uncharacteristically quiet. When Charlie moaned in his sleep, he responded immediately with more Murtlap essence, or with a gentle touch on the forehead. He wiped the sweat from the other man's face, and was methodical about applying a freezing charm every few minutes.

_I was right to bring him_, Diane reflected to herself sometime around midnight. The kid was a natural Healer, kind-hearted and perceptive in the face of suffering. And she could not have handled this on her own.

The clock had just struck two in the morning when Diane added the last of the shredded Phoenix Fern to the pot. With a soft hiss, the mixture thickened and turned white, and she immediately took it off the fire, stirring it tenderly a few more times before at last rising from her cross-legged position on the floor.

Jack looked up. "Is it ready?" She nodded, and he stood to get a closer look. "Well, it certainly _looks_ the way it's supposed to. I guess _he'll_ find out in a moment if it actually turned out alright." They both turned to look at Charlie. The purple-tinted burn extended over his entire back, and was inching over his sides. "I mean, it's not like there are any other options, right?"

"Right," Diane replied, trying to push down the nausea that she felt rising in her stomach. "Will you hold him still?"

Jack moved to Charlie's head. "I don't envy you what's about to happen, mate," he told the comatose red-head warningly.

Diane let her hand rest briefly over Charlie's hair. _Please let this work,_ she thought fiercely.

She moved to Charlie's side, and took a ladleful of ointment out of the cauldron. Carefully, she let the mixture fall generously atop the giant burn, and then evened it across the charred skin with her fingers. He stiffened under her cautious hands, but then relaxed. For a moment, nothing happened. _Maybe it's this easy,_ she thought in the silence. _Or maybe I've done something wrong…_

Quite suddenly, a high-pitched hissing sound filled the small room, and Charlie started thrashing wildly from side to side. "Hold him!" Diane screeched, but Watson was already on it, gripping Charlie's head carefully between firm hands. She grabbed his legs, and they both watched as the white salve that was spread over his back began to blacken, then to bubble. Even holding onto his calves, Diane could feel his body temperature rising. Charlie was groaning, loudly and painfully. A thin smoke began to leak from the crust of the now-black ointment, and then it came faster, emanating so quickly that soon almost the entire room was full of purple-tinted smoke.

Diane let go of Charlie's thrashing legs, springing up quickly to open the window. "_Ventus_!" she screamed. With a rush of hot air, the smoke swept out of the room, dissipating into the darkness of the night sky.

Slowly, she turned back around. Charlie was no longer struggling, and instead lay limply over the covers. Watson had fallen backwards, and sat with a shocked expression on his face, spread-legged on the floor.

"Is he alright?" she asked, panting.

Watson rose onto his knees to examine Charlie's still body. "He's breathing."

Diane closed her eyes to allow herself a quick moment of unadulterated relief. Opening them again, she walked over to the bed. "Alright then," she commanded. "Help me with this."

Together the two of them worked to remove the remnants of the potion smeared over Charlie's back. Where it had once been white and creamy, the mixture was now black, with a crusty, clay-like consistency. Underneath, however, Charlie's skin looked like skin again. It was red and raw, even peeling and bleeding a little in some places, but no longer scorched beyond recognition. When they had stripped away the last of the ointment, Diane sunk to the floor, back against her bed.

"Hey, Boss." Watson's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Boss."

"What is it, Jack?"

"You are damn good."

She couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing, and Jack joined in as Charlie snored softly in the background.


	3. Charlie's Tale

**Hey folks. In reading over this fic, I've found more mistakes than I'd like to admit to, so I'll likely be making some minor changes to the first couple of chapters over the next day or so. It won't be anything major, but I'm just giving you a heads-up. I also may combine the second and third chapters at a later date, as they were originally supposed to be just one chapter. **

**I struggled a little with writing the interactions between Diane and Charlie in chapter three. Once you get to the end, if you have any advice, I'd love to here it. **

**Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

When she woke up, the room was bathed in the tenuous, blue-tinted light of dawn, and Charlie was stirring softly on the bed. Diane blinked blearily and rose from where she had fallen asleep on the carpet to stand over her charge.

He was looking much better, though he could probably do with a bath. His face wore a mask of dirt and dried sweat and he smelled like smoke and ash. Thanks to some bruise paste, the swelling on his face had gone down, and an Episkey charm had quickly fixed his ankle. She had finally remembered to use Wound-Cleaning Solution on the vicious gash along his shoulder, and the aroma of the bitter-smelling purple potion still lingered around the room. Thankfully, Charlie had remained unconscious through the whole ordeal: she knew from experience that it _stung_ to have that stuff poured into a cut, let alone a wound the size of a small valley.

Most of this she had done alone, after sending Jack home once the Fiendfyre burn was dealt with. Uncharacteristically, he had gone without protest, cheeky quips, or obnoxious questions, his young face drawn but excited. She did not look forward to seeing him at work again. Hopefully, he knew enough to keep his mouth shut about what had gone on that night.

Beneath her, Charlie was woozily opening his eyes. After a quick glance around the room, he closed them again, groaning very loudly.

"Ugh," he moaned exaggeratedly. "I feel like I've been mauled by a hippogriff."

Diane sat on the bed beside him as she hid a smile. "What you went through was a lot worse than being mauled by a hippogriff," she said sternly. "I get those all the time. You should count yourself lucky to be alive."

He smiled up at her, a familiar twinkle in his brown eyes. "I should count myself lucky to have a friend who knows her stuff as well as you."

She felt the smile slip over her face and rest there for a moment. "Well, you're not completely healed yet. We did manage to draw the curse from that burn on your back, but you're likely to remain sore for a few days. Some run-of-the-mill burn ointment applied every couple hours ought to speed things up. And as for your shoulder…"

Charlie held up a hand to silence her, his face suddenly darkening. "Hold on a tic – _we_?"

Diane crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, yes. The potion I brewed to fix what the Fiendfyre did to you is very old and very difficult – and it required my undivided attention if it was to have a chance of working. I brought my trainee Healer here to help. He did a great job, too," she snapped defensively. "He really looked after you."

"Diane," Charlie shook his head angrily. "_You shouldn't have involved anyone else._ I'm in danger, and…"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Just let you die? Because that's what would have happened if I hadn't had someone here to assist me. I may be talented, but I'm not _that_ good."

Charlie lay back and sighed. The silence stretched tensely between them.

At last, Diane burst out, "Charlie: _what is going on_? You show up in my home unannounced, cut to pieces by very, _very_ dark magic. I stay up most of the night fixing you up, and you have the nerve to tell me off for _healing you_? I think you owe me a bit more than that." Her eyes flashed angrily and she tilted her chin up. "Starting with an explanation."

He didn't say a word. Diane was just opening her mouth to demand more answers when Galen let out a low hoot from the corner.

Charlie raised his head. "Who's this?" he asked, looking around until his eyes fell on Galen. "An owl? What happened to Morrigan?"

Diane sighed, and said rather coldly, "Charlie, Morrigan was an old cat back when I had her at Hogwarts. That was more than _ten years _ago. I haven't seen you in all that time. She died. Things changed a lot while you were off in Romania." She felt a self-righteous satisfaction in the way his expression fell. "Now: stop dodging. Just begin with something simple. How did you know to come _here_?"

Wincing, Charlie sat up to face her. "I'm not _entirely_ sure. I…I was being chased, and I needed to get away quickly. I needed somewhere that was safe, familiar, but where no one would expect me to go – so not the Burrow, or with any of my brothers."

"But, you've never been here before! I mean, you never came to see me."

A guilty expression passed over his face. "Well, when Tonks was rooming here, I came to visit sometimes."

"Were you deliberately trying to avoid me? I never had a hint that you were around."

"Oh, come on!" Charlie shouted, face paling with the effort. "We both know you didn't want to see me anyway!"

They faced each other, breathing heavily, in the silence that followed.

"Alright," Diane said briskly. "But Tonks moved out several years ago and got her own place. I haven't seen her in ages. Why here?"

"I guess it was just the only place I could think of."

Diane softened a bit. "Where is Tonks now, anyway? I know her work as an Auror is top secret and all, but now that the war's over, I thought that maybe she would be in touch."

"She died," said Charlie quietly. "Things changed a lot while you were off playing doctor."

Diane froze. She thought for a second that she might smack him, but then the full realization of what Charlie had said hit her with the force of a Bludger to the face. "She's dead?" she whispered.

Charlie nodded. "In the war. At the Battle of Hogwarts."

Diane was silent. Tonks, her best friend from school, the kind young woman who had helped her out during her first years of living on her own…gone? Unwanted memories flitted across her consciousness: Tonks' good-natured pranks in the Hufflepuff dormitories; her gleeful, snorting laughs; the messes she used to leave everywhere when they shared the apartment; the kindness in her quick smile and the stubborn fire in her eyes. When was the last time she and Tonks had spoken? How had she not known about her own friend's death? A muscle twitched in Diane's jaw as she bit back the prickling warmth behind her eyelids.

"I'm so sorry," Charlie murmured, looking away. "I shouldn't have…that was completely out of line."

She blinked furiously, and turned to face him, trying to ignore the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe. "Charlie…just tell me what's going on."

"Hey, it's okay. The story can wait. Take a moment if you need it." His voice dropped, and it sounded like he was also struggling with his emotions. "I cared for her too." He placed a warm, solid hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off irritably.

"Dammit, Charlie! I don't need a "moment;" I don't need your sympathy. I just need some explanations!" She stood violently, turning to face the window so that he wouldn't see the wetness shining in her eyes.

He paused, sighing.

"Get on with it!" she snapped.

"Alright." He breathed deeply. "I'm just filling in some of the pieces myself, but I'll do my best.

"A few weeks ago, my dad started sending letters to me in Romania. They were deliberately vague, but the basic gist of them was this: Dad had reason to believe that something was going on at the Ministry. Something bad. He said that people had been disappearing – not many, but enough to be suspicious – and no one seemed to be putting any effort into finding what had happened to them. My younger brother Ron, who works as an Auror, was getting all sorts of reports of dark magic, but they always seemed to lead to dead ends. At first I thought he might be paranoid. I mean, the war ended three years ago. Maybe Ron had just hit an unlucky streak. Maybe there was some explanation for the disappearances that didn't involve darkness and conspiracy.

"But his letters grew increasingly frantic. He said that people at the Ministry were acting funny, that the Minister was refusing to see him even though he and Dad are good friends. The last time he wrote me, he said he was going to go talk to the Headmistress at Hogwarts in the hopes that she would take him seriously and do something about this.

"Then the letters stopped. I was a little worried, but I didn't think too much of it. I had my own job and my own concerns.

"But three days ago, I received word from Ron. Dad had disappeared, his office blown to pieces. The Ministry assumed him dead, and, for some reason, Ron was their prime suspect. My brother had been on the run for several days, avoiding Ministry Hit Wizards, but he said he had also been doing some of his own investigating. He thought that Dad was still alive, and being held somewhere in London. He pleaded for my help, and so, naturally, I came.

"Together, we tracked him, looking for clues to his whereabouts, and eventually we found him. He was being held in an old house not too far from here, protected by dark magic. Me and Ron stormed the place with…with an Auror friend of his.

"We were outnumbered, but then again, we weren't trying to fight. We just wanted to get in and get out again with Dad as quickly as possible. It was chaos in there: curses flying everywhere, impossible to see anything, but eventually we found him. Ron and I held them off while his friend apparated away with Dad, and during that fighting I got this." He touched his shoulder gingerly. "As soon as they vanished, everything kind of…exploded. I heard Ron yell something, but there was fire everywhere. I tried to run, but there was a wall of flame directly behind me, rushing after me. I was confused, panicked, in pain…I knew I wouldn't be able to apparate far. The fire had just caught up with me when I remembered this place.

"I know Dad and the other Auror got out safely, but I'm not so sure about Ron." Charlie bit his lip. "Maybe it's because he's my little brother, but I still have trouble thinking of him as a powerful wizard. I mean, he passed his auror training; I _know_ he knows what he's doing, but…I can't help but worry."

"So…what now?" Diane asked quietly.

"We had a plan to meet up after the rescue, through several Portkeys hidden around London spelled to take us to a hidden location. The last one is leaving at…" He withdrew a rather singed piece of parchment from his pants pocket. "…Around two this afternoon. And another is leaving earlier, at nine-o'clock. If we hurry, we can catch it now."

"Excuse me?" Diane raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean, we?"

"Diane, there are some very dangerous wizards after me. I don't think it's safe for you to stay here. You need to come with me."

"It's not _my_ fault you showed up at my apartment," she snapped. "Besides, I have a job. I'm already going to be late for work. I can't just not show up."

"You _have_ to come with me," Charlie implored her, grabbing her wrist. "I don't know who these people are, but they're very powerful. I wouldn't forgive myself if you got hurt because of me. I can't let you risk your life because of your stupid _job_."

"I'm an adult, Charlie!" Diane retorted, snatching her wrist away from him. "I know perfectly well what I'm doing. I've lived on my own since the summer after my sixth year, and I think I've learned to make my own decisions by now!"

He rose from the bed to follow her, but winced and put a hand on his wounded shoulder, faltering. Diane pushed him gently back down to a seated position, and said more kindly, "Besides, my trainee Healer won't be able to handle the ward all day by himself. I need to be there. I won't just throw away everything I've worked for."

Charlie eyed her reproachfully.

"Now," Diane went on, her voice businesslike, "You're going to need a little more rest before you should be moving around. Stay here while I go to work; sleep a little. After lunch, I'll come back with some more medicine for you, and then you can be on your way to that Portkey."

She gathered up her keys quickly, distantly aware that she must look a mess. She could feel Charlie's eyes on her as she headed for the door, and had to resist turning back to justify her reasoning to him again. He ought to know by now that she was too stubborn to argue with.

Despite herself, she glanced back at him when she reached the door. Lamely, she said to him, "It's been nice to see you again, Charlie."

Kicking herself, she hurried out.

It was only when she was well down the street, after her head had cooled a bit in the brisk morning air, that she began to wonder if she was doing the right thing. Charlie's freckled face had brought back a barrage of unwelcome memories from her Hogwarts days, back when her life had been so much more unsure. Now, she had everything under control; her days were comfortable and predictable. Why did he have to show up in her apartment and mess everything up?

Diane felt a momentary twinge in her heart. Charlie had been her friend; maybe she owed him a little more than this. Maybe she was being foolhardy for no reason other than childish and misplaced anger.

She shook her head and strode a little faster. She would maintain her life's equilibrium at all costs, and that meant that he had to go. She had too many painful memories surrounding Charlie Weasley to let him back into her life.

"Everything is going to be okay," she breathed to herself as she reached the hospital. "Please, let everything just be okay."


	4. Lunchtime Surprises

"McKenna!" Watson practically leaped over to her side once she walked in the door. "McKenna, do you know what time it is? You're _late_!" He said the last word with particular relish, a gleeful smile across his face.

"Stuff it, Watson," Diane replied as she signed herself in.

"Yes, ma'am!" He snapped to a deliberately clumsy salute, and winked broadly at her.

She sighed. Where was the maturity that he had shown the night before? Lowering her voice slightly, she said, "Meet me in my office when you get the chance, please, Watson."

For a split second, his face slipped into a more serious expression. But then that goofy smile returned, and he gave her an even larger wink before swaggering off.

Five minutes later, however, he was in her office, closing the door behind him.

"Is he alright?" he asked quietly. She nodded, and he let out a long breath of air. "Thank goodness. I mean, you are awfully good, but that burn…" He shuddered.

She nodded again, her mouth suddenly dry. What if she was wrong? If she really was in danger, then that would mean that Watson could be hurt as well. He was infuriating, acting childish and lazy more often than not, but he had grown on her during the past year or so as she had worked with him and taught him. His charms had been more endearing than she was, at first, willing to admit. And there were rare occasions – such as this one – where he showed a maturity and compassion that she would otherwise be hard-pressed to admit he possessed. Was she really risking this young man's life?

His blue eyes shown up at her, and for the first time she seriously considered that he really wasn't that much younger than she was.

"Thank you for your help last night, Jack," she said, swallowing uncomfortably. "I couldn't have done what I did if you weren't there. You did…a really good job."

He smiled his half-smile at her, but somehow that sense of oldness remained: in his forehead, in a shrewdness behind his eyes.

"Look: my friend is…in trouble. He thinks that there may be dangerous people after him, and that because we helped him, we may be at risk too. I don't know how true this is, and I'm not sorry for asking for your help last night, but if there's a chance that you're in jeopardy, I think you need to know."

He looked at her evenly, raising his eyebrows. "Are you worried about me, boss?"

She met his stare. "I hope I don't need to be; that's all."

"I can take care of myself," he said cockily, but his eyes were reassuring and calm.

She smiled thinly back at him. "I think you can."

* * *

At ten-o'clock, she left Jack in charge and hurried up to the top floor. She needed to see Liz if she was to replace the potions ingredients and medical supplies that she had used last night, but she also wanted to talk to her friend. Seeing Charlie had left her feeling off-balance; hopefully, Liz's practical advice and reassurance would right her again.

When she swung open the door, Liz was seated at her desk, her boots up on the table, casually reading a paperback book featuring a rather buxom witch and a bare-chested wizard on the cover. As Diane entered, Liz swung her feet back onto the floor, and opened one of her desk drawers as if to toss the book inside.

"Oh," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "It's just you." Relaxing, she laid the book on top of the desk and looked up with a smile.

"Romance novels?" asked Diane incredulously. "Really?"

"Even us brainiacs need a break sometimes. Besides…it's a book." She cocked her head to the side as if considering something. "I like books. Even bad ones. I think it might be the smell. Though in the case of this one…" She gestured to where _Charms of the Enchantress_ sat on her desk. "…it may just be the sex. Even us brainiacs like sex."

Diane turned her scoffing laugh into a coughing fit as Liz raised a reproachful eyebrow.

"So, Diane: what can I do for you?"

Diane fingered the list of potion ingredients in the pocket of her robes, but then sighed and dropped into one of the low stools scattered around Liz's workshop.

"Do you remember Charlie Weasley?"

"He was the red-head, right? Yeah, I remember him. You and he were pretty close. And didn't he date that metamorphmagus friend of yours for a while?" Liz tilted her head to the side. "But he left school. Halfway through sixth year, I think. Left for Albania or somewhere."

"Yeah," said Diane quietly, clenching her jaw. "He's the one."

"Well, what about him?"

"He…showed up at my house last night." And she explained the events of the night before: Charlie lying injured on her bed; the hours it took to brew the potion to treat the Fiendfyre burn; Charlie's story, and his protestations that she was in danger. Liz watched her as she spoke, her dark eyes dancing shrewdly in her pale face.

"So do you believe him?" she asked in the silence after Diane had finished.

"I…I don't know. It seems rather far-fetched. I mean: the war's over. We've been rebuilding for the past three years."

"It's foolish to discount something just because it isn't what you're used to." Diane looked up sharply, and Liz smiled. "It may be less far-fetched than you think. It _has_ been three years, but doesn't that mean that it's more likely for some new dark wizard to step forward to take You-Know-Who's place? And we know _something_ strange is going on at the Ministry. Otherwise, why would they cut hospital finances by so much?"

Diane nodded slowly. "If it is true, do you think that Watson and I really are in danger?"

"I have no idea. I know that you don't want to leave this job. I certainly wouldn't. But watch your back; don't let your stubbornness and whatever this guy did to make you distrust him get in the way of your safety."

Diane started. "How did you…?"

"Because I know you, honey. You and I may not go back as far as you and Charlie do, but I've gotten to know you pretty well over the past decade or so. Not to mention the little fact that I'm a genius." Liz beamed at a startled Diane. "Don't worry; I can tell you don't want to talk about it. I'm sure that the explanations that I can imagine are much more interesting than the truth, anyway."

Diane pulled a face as the two figures on the cover of Liz's romance novel writhed together in a passionate and endless kiss. "It's nothing like that."

Liz sighed mournfully. "Exactly my point." Her expression sobered, and she looked Diane in the eyes. "Even if you don't want to believe him, just be careful."

* * *

It was close to noon when Diane made her way back down to the Newt Scamander Ward, and the warm sunlight slipping through the windows made her realize just how tired she was after the excitement of the night before. Most of the beds in the ward were empty, but Watson met her with a rather worried expression on his face as she entered.

"Almost everything's been running smoothly, Boss," he told her, falling into step beside her. "There was a splinching case just after you went upstairs, but I was able to sort it out pretty easily, and everything else has been quiet."

"So what's the problem?"

"Well…" he stopped walking and she turned to face him. "There're two things. First, there were two men here asking about you."

Diane froze, her heart racing. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know who they were. They said they were from the Ministry, but they were wearing these long cloaks and I couldn't really see their faces properly. They asked me where to find Diane McKenna." He swallowed. "I told them I didn't know. Then they asked me for my name, and I gave it to them, and they left."

"That might not have been the best idea, Jack."

"Well, I'm just a trainee healer, you know? I didn't see much harm in it." He sounded a little defensive, but beneath the cocky façade, Diane could sense a bit of very real fear. "And they never did come back, so I figure it probably wasn't anything."

Diane let out a worried sigh. "What's the other thing?"

Watson brightened considerably. "Oh, there's a case that I can't make heads or tails of. This teenager's mother brought him in because he was exhibiting some really strange symptoms, but he doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger, so I waited for you."

He led her over to a bed in the corner. A mousy, plump witch was sitting beside the bed. Her son, a shaggy-haired, pimply teen, hovered about a foot above the covers with a vapid grin plastered over his face.

"I told her that maybe he'd just eaten a few too many Fizzing Whizzbees," whispered Jack, "But she seemed rather offended by that theory, and it didn't account for the psychological symptoms anyway."

Diane approached the boy, who seemed to not even notice her approach. Carefully, she passed her wand underneath the boy, who continued to float unconcernedly above the bed. Frowning, she waved her wand in front of his face. His eyes followed it very belatedly, as though he were drunk. Slowly, his mouth moved from the asinine smile to a small, awestruck 'o.' Shaking her head, Diane bent over to take the young man's pulse as she asked the mother, "Has your family traveled at all recently?"

"Why, yes," exclaimed the woman. "We returned from a vacation to visit some relatives in Australia just last week. But we got all of our vaccinations and everything before leaving, and we stayed in Sydney the entire time."

Diane nodded, her face impassive. "Please excuse me for a minute, ma'am." She gestured for Watson to follow her a few yards away.

"Australia?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Yes," Diane replied rather grimly. "I expect that if you were to examine the young man, you would find the mark of an insect's sting somewhere on his body. Billywigs are small, blue bugs native to Australia, and their sting induces levitation and…giddiness. Sometimes mild hallucinations may result. It is illegal to export them, and even in Australia using the sting for…_recreational_ purposes is generally frowned upon. Yet, from what I understand, there is still a roaring black market trade in the little creatures. The effects of the sting are instantaneous, so since the family returned a week ago, I would guess the young man probably snuck some Billywigs home from his trip."

Jack chuckled. "So, you're basically saying that the kid's _high_?" His smile broadened. "If his mom was upset by my Fizzing Whizzbee theory, she is going to _love_ this."

"It's not funny, Jack."

"No, ma'am. Of course not." He winked at her. "It's _hilarious_."

Diane was about to retort when she heard a high-pitched squeal from the other side of the ward.

"_Diane_!" the voice shrieked excitedly.

Rubbing her temples, Diane turned to see a pretty young witch with strawberry-blonde hair striding through the rows of beds towards her.

"Bloody _hell_," she swore viciously. "I completely forgot." She turned to Watson. "Since you find the Billywig case so entertaining, _you_ can inform the mother what's wrong with her son. You don't need to give him anything; the effects should wear off by themselves within an hour or so."

"And where are _you_ going?" Jack enquired churlishly.

Diane was already halfway across the ward, intent on getting Fiona out of her workplace as quickly as possible. "Business!" she called over her shoulder. Watson pulled a face at her and turned back towards their patient.

Diane caught up with her sister quickly and grabbed her elbow, turning her about and practically dragging her towards the exit.

"Hi, Diane!" Fiona said brightly. "I thought that we agreed to meet outside the hospital at quarter-'til-noon, but you didn't show up, so I came looking for you!"

"I noticed."

"So, where are we going to eat?"

They were out of the Newt Scamander ward, hurrying along the corridor and garnering strange looks from the lime-robed Healers in the hall. Diane almost bumped into Christopher Nidos, who was holding a smoking vial of acid green liquid. She gave him an apologetic look as they swept past.

"The cafeteria," she snapped in answer to her sister's question.

Fiona pouted. "That's hardly a very special place to get lunch. I haven't seen you in ages." She continued to chatter on as Diane led her to the elevators. They boarded one and Diane jabbed the button for the fifth floor with such force that for a second she was afraid that it would crack.

With a soft bing, the elevator began to rise, and Diane let out a tired breath before turning to face her younger sister.

"You look nice, Fiona."

"Thank you!" she replied, feigning surprise. "I'm afraid that I've put on a bit of weight since we last saw each other."

Fiona seldom looked anything but nice. She maintained her appearance to an almost obsessive degree; Diane suspected that the money her sister spent on magical product for her hair alone likely could feed an entire family for a year. It certainly showed, though. Where Diane's hair was lank and rather colorless, Fiona's golden-red tresses spilled lusciously down her back, perfectly arranged. Her skin was always clear, lips always full, eyebrows always carefully plucked and pulled into an open, quizzical expression. The two sisters shared the same pointed chin, hazel eyes, and delicate hands, but that was where the resemblance ended.

Diane squinted at her sister. It was _possible_ that Fiona looked a little plumper than the last time she had seen her, but that had been almost three years ago. For a minute, she thought that Fiona had somehow grown taller while they had been apart, but then she realized that it was her sister's tippy high heels, poking out from beneath some smart and close-fitting robes in a grey pinstripe pattern, that made the two almost the same height.

The elevator doors opened and Diane guided Fiona to the cafeteria, only half-listening to what her sister was saying. She was thinking of Liz's words, and of Charlie's face, which after the next couple hours she would probably never see again.

"_It's foolish to discount something just because it isn't what you're used to_." Diane shook her head sharply and tried to listen to Fiona's prattling as they found a table.

"How's work?" Fiona asked after they'd sat down.

Diane felt a dull throbbing in her temple. The lack of sleep was catching up with her, and her sister was not helping her building headache. "Fine," she replied stiffly. "How's yours?"

"Oh, wonderful! Did you get my owl, about the promotion?"

"I got it."

"Well, you didn't reply, so I couldn't be sure. I'm the marketing director for the entirety of Gladrags Wizardwear!"

"Congratulations."

"Why, thank you! I know that I was never as _gifted_ as you, but I think I've managed to do quite well in spite of everything." She said this last bit rather smugly. "Nowadays, I report directly to Mr. Worth – he's the owner of all the stores – and he holds my opinion in very high regard. For instance, just the other day he was talking to me, and he said he's considering changing some of our work force to house-elf labor, and what do I think of that? Well, I could tell from the way he said it that he was looking for a way to get away with paying our employees less money, and I wasn't sure how that made me feel."

Diane nodded sympathetically into her salad, letting her sister ramble on.

"So, very politely, I reminded him that house-elves aren't as subservient as they used to be, that there are all these civil rights groups forming nowadays; more wizards are becoming concerned about the rights of non-humans. I told him that we could make an advertising campaign out of it: we could advertise Gladrags robes as being made with one-hundred percent fair, domestic, human-only labor. And he loved the idea! We've got a series of radio announcements coming up that I think will be just _brilliant_."

"That's great, Fiona."

"I know! And Ben's work is going well too." She scrunched up her nose. "I'm still not really sure what he does. He has some job in the muggle government, but he did just get a raise, so it seems that he's performing admirably." Fiona leaned over the table conspiratorially. "What about you, sis? Will you be settling down anytime soon?"

"I'm already quite _settled_, thanks very much."

Fiona rolled her eyes dramatically. "I meant with a _man_. Or a woman, I guess. I mean, I haven't seen you in so long that I suppose you could have changed your tastes without me knowing about it."

"No!" Diane snapped. "I'm not seeing anyone."

"Alright then!" Fiona held up her hands. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize it was such a touchy subject."

"It's not - !" Diane took a deep breath. "It's not a touchy subject. I just don't particularly want to see anyone right now. I'm too busy with work."

"I guess that explains why you haven't been answering any of my owls," said Fiona. She looked up, and for a moment the light in her face seemed to dim a bit. "I don't suppose you've seen Mum or Dad anytime recently?" she asked in a softer voice.

Diane looked down. "You know I haven't."

"How long has it been?"

"Well, I saw them at the wedding, of course. But do you mean before that?" Fiona nodded. "Not since I left home."

"You haven't visited at all?"

Diane shook her head. "Not once. Mum used to write me constantly. I sent an owl to her and to Dad a couple of times: to tell them when I started training, and again when I was appointed as a full Healer. But other than that…I've tried to stay away."

"I've…I've not seen much of them either." Fiona's eyes were suddenly fierce. "But I've still visited more than you. They're _family_, Diane. I know that the divorce was harder on you than it was on me, but that still counts for something." She crossed her arms huffily over her chest. "You know, sometimes it feels like you're just running away from everything. Like you're scared."

"Well, I'm sorry that I wasn't a brave little Gryffindor like you," Diane shot back venomously.

"Our houses have nothing to do with it, Diane! That's not what I'm talking about…"

A violent crashing sound suddenly split the air, silencing the hum of quiet conversation in the cafeteria.

"What was that?" Fiona whispered, glancing nervously around.

"Now who's the scared one?" Diane hissed. "It sounded like it came from one of the lower floors. This is a magical hospital; we get explosions and strange noises here all the time." But despite her dismissive words, Diane was on guard. She scanned the cafeteria carefully, remembering Liz's words. _Even if you don't want to believe him, just be careful._

A few people had risen from their seats, heading for the doorway to make sure the racket wasn't anything serious. As a group of five Healers exited the room, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, Diane saw two figures enter, cloaked and hooded.

Slowly, so as not to attract attention, she drew her wand from her robes and gripped it tightly.

"Are you sure that was nothing to worry about?" Fiona asked, worry creeping into her voice. "It sounded pretty serious."

Diane ignored her sister, keeping an eye on the two figures in black. Carefully, she rose from her seat, and motioned Fiona to do the same. If they could creep around the edge of the cafeteria, there was a way out through the kitchens. Maybe this was nothing; maybe that crash they had heard really was just another chap with a violent case of exploding sneezes. But just in case…

She was guiding Fiona through the tables towards the back wall, keeping an eye on the cloaked figures and holding tight to the hope that there was nothing to worry about, when one of the two strangers looked straight at her.

And with a gut-wrenching panic, Diane realized that her life was not going to go quietly back to normal anytime soon.

"_Stupefy_!" the man screamed. Diane dove, taking Fiona down with her as the jet of red light whizzed over their heads. She grabbed her sister, dragging her to her feet and pushing her in front of her towards the kitchens.

The other people in the cafeteria were screaming, trying to find cover as the two sisters wove madly through the tables and chairs. Fiona tottered clumsily on her high heels, but Diane caught her before she fell and kept pushing her sister on ahead, her wand held out away from both of them protectively.

"_Confringo_!" shouted the shorter of the two attackers, pointing a wand at Fiona.

Diane slashed her wand across her chest, yelling, "_Locomotor_!" One of the small round tables jumped in front of them and exploded as it was hit by the blasting curse. Diane covered her face as they were showered with small bits of wood, and blindly fired a Trip Jinx through the shrapnel. When she could see again, she took more careful aim and repeated the incantation; the larger assailant fell flat on his face and Diane turned and ran faster.

Another stunner sailed toward them, but a shield charm deflected it handily. They were close to the kitchens now, just a few more yards…

Suddenly, all the air was knocked out of Diane's lungs and she was tossed forwards like a rag doll as a disarming charm sent her wand flying from her fingers. She landed heavily on her side, gasping for breath, but immediately rolled back up into a crouch, her head throbbing painfully as she cast about for her wand. There it was! A few feet away, just out of reach…

But the cloaked figure was on top of her. Its hood had fallen back to reveal a woman with dark eyes and a shining, hairless head. Her teeth were bared in a mocking grin as she raised her wand.

"_Stupefy_!"

Scrabbling madly for her wand, Diane braced herself for the stunning spell to hit.

"_Protego_!" called a deeper voice, and the spell ricocheted off of a shield charm. Diane dashed forward to collect her wand, looking bemusedly around the destroyed cafeteria.

Charlie Weasley was charging forward through the tables, brandishing his wand and neatly disarming the bald woman.

"Charlie!" Diane screeched. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Mind if I explain later?" he panted as he reached her side. "We need to get out!"

"Follow me," she told him grimly, and together they sprinted for the kitchens. Fiona, already in the kitchen doorway, at last had her wand out and wildly cast protective charms to cover their retreat.

Once inside, Diane slammed the door shut and locked it. "Everyone here?" she gasped. Fiona nodded, eyes wide. Her hair looked considerably messier and she had kicked off her high heels. Charlie was holding his right shoulder as if it pained him.

"Grab onto me," Charlie said. Fiona grabbed his arm without a second thought, but Diane hesitated. "Come on! We need to apparate away! I'll take us to the portkey."

She shook her head. "I have to make sure Watson's safe."

"_There's no time_. Diane, come on!"

He extended his hand to her, but she didn't take it. There was a heavy thud against the door.

Charlie eyed her with a mixture of reproval and admiration. "Alright. Five minutes. Meet us at the Museum of Quidditch. And don't make me come looking for you."

She nodded as a voice outside haughtily said, "Stand aside!"

"_Reducto_!"

The door blasted open as the three people inside disappeared.

* * *

Charlie sprang to his feet as Diane appeared outside the London Museum of Quidditch.

"Any luck?" he asked anxiously.

She shook her head. "The first floor was practically destroyed. I couldn't find Watson anywhere." To her shame, she found herself biting back tears. Charlie put a hand awkwardly on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "We'll find him, okay? I promise you."

Eyes glistening, she glared at him. Shifting uncomfortably, he took his hand off of her.

"Come on. The portkey will leave in a couple minutes."

Diane and Fiona followed Charlie through the dimly lit museum until they reached a display on the development of the snitch. Under the warning of a sign which proclaimed "DO NOT TOUCH" in large letters, the exhibit tracked the progression of the snitch through the ages from the small, live bird called the golden snidget to the versions used in the present day. For some reason, there were two current models of the snitch, in the far left corner of the display.

Blatantly disregarding the "DO NOT TOUCH" sign, Charlie reached into the exhibit and picked up and examined first one snitch, and then the other.

"Aha," he said triumphantly. "This one's the one. Everyone get a finger on." He checked his watch. "We've got about fifteen seconds."

Their three fingers barely fit on the small golden sphere. There was an uncomfortable moment of quiet; they all seemed to be breathing much louder than normal. Diane hoped fervently that no one would suddenly walk in, but the museum seemed deserted.

"Three…two…one…"

Diane felt a strange jerking sensation just behind her navel as the ground disappeared from beneath her feet.


	5. Hut on the Rock

Diane's legs crumpled beneath her as her feet hit the ground rather heavily. She found herself on her hands and knees, her nose inches from a rather dilapidated wooden floor. Looking around, she saw that Fiona had fallen over completely, and that Charlie was rising back up after he too had lost his footing.

"Charlie!" called a male voice. A tall, red-haired wizard entered the room excitedly. He practically ran at Charlie when he saw him, and the two clasped each other's arms warmly. "We were worried; you were the last one back. We weren't sure what had happened."

A black-haired and bespectacled wizard came in behind the lanky red-head. He also wore a wide, relieved smile, and he shook hands with Charlie. "It's good to have you back, mate."

"Is Dad okay?" Charlie asked anxiously.

"Yeah, he's fine. Resting up. He reckons he'll be fine with a little sleep. Ginny's with him now."

The shorter of the two young men glanced around, his gaze falling on the sisters. Diane was amazed by how brilliantly green his eyes were. He seemed familiar somehow; she felt as though she should know him…

"Who're these?"

"Oh, yeah." Charlie turned to them, and Diane rose rather shakily to her feet. "This is Diane McKenna. She and I were in the same year back at Hogwarts, but now she's a Healer. She fixed me up last night." Charlie smiled at her. "Figure I would have died without her help." He glanced at Fiona. "And…uh…she's…"

Fiona stepped forward and extended a hand. "Fiona Moore," she said, her voice small but very clear. "Diane's sister. I'm afraid I got…caught in the crossfire, if you will."

"But what're they doing _here_?"

"C'mon, Harry. Whoever's after us is ruthless, you know that. Diane put herself in great danger by helping me! I had to bring her."

"My sister and I were attacked at St. Mungo's…" Diane began, but as she spoke, Fiona's eyes grew very wide. Before she could finish, her sister interrupted.

"Harry?" she gasped. "You're _Harry Potter_!"

Amazed, Diane stopped talking to take a closer look at the dark-haired man, and immediately wished that she hadn't. Beneath his lightning-shaped scar, Harry Potter rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yes," he replied wearily. "I'm Harry Potter. And I'm sorry that the two of you got dragged into this mess." He shot a glance at Charlie. "How much do they know?"

"Diane knows as much as I do," he said rather apologetically. "As for her sister…"

"I have no idea what's going on," Fiona chirped helpfully.

"Alright." Harry massaged the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "We'll have to get them hidden, get them somewhere safe…"

"My husband's a Muggle," Fiona said hesitantly. "Will you be able to protect him as well?"

"Oh, sure," replied the tall red-head, who Diane assumed was Charlie's brother Ron. "That's no problem. We like Muggles well enough. My dad's even completely obsessed with them. It shouldn't be too difficult to work out."

"But where are we supposed to put them? They can't very well stay _here_. It's well protected, but if there're too many people, we may draw attention to ourselves. We certainly can't bring _another_ person here. What if they're watching her husband?"

"We don't even know who _they_ are! I think you're getting a little overly paranoid, mate."

"Says the one who was framed for the murder of his own father! These people obviously have extensive resources and influence, and we can't afford…"

Diane closed her eyes and shut out their arguments, tired of being referred to as though she were not there. It had been a long day, and in the midst of Charlie showing up wounded in her apartment, she had only gotten about an hour and a half of sleep. Strangely, despite this she felt wide awake, keenly aware of the pounding pain in her head and the aches in her bones. She wanted nothing more than to just be by herself in her apartment, with a pot of tea on the stove and the tedium of paperwork spread out in front of her for her to either lose herself in or ignore at her pleasure.

Instead, she was here: in some sort of ramshackle old house that smelled vaguely of salt and fish, in the same room as her sister, two Weasleys, and the Boy Who Lived.

She felt a warmth behind her shoulder, and then Charlie whispered in her ear, "Are you alright? Do you need to lie down or something? You look a bit pale."

She opened her eyes and muttered back, "No, I'm fine." She paused. "I could probably do with a little fresh air, though."

Charlie grinned. "I can arrange that." He waved a hand between Harry and Ron, who were still debating back and forth. "Oi. Lovebirds." Both younger wizards turned to look at him, clearly annoyed. "While you argue over what to do, we're going to step outside. You can call us back in once you've made a decision."

Harry scowled. "That might not be safe…"

"_Come on_!" Ron exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Where's the adventure-loving, risk-taking Harry I used to know? You're starting to sound like Hermione." He gestured towards the door. "Go ahead, Charlie. Cast a disillusionment spell if you think it's necessary, but we've got so many protective charms on this place that I doubt it'll make a difference."

Trying not to smile at the offended snort that came from the most famous wizard in Britain, Diane followed Charlie through a creaky wooden door to the outside.

She gasped at the view when she stepped across the threshold and the sun hit her face. Water stretched away from her as far as she could see, gray-blue and glistening and endless. She glanced around, and saw that they stood on a small, rocky island, atop of which the small house that they had just exited perched precariously. The waves churned against jagged stones only a yard or so from her feet, and her eyes watered as the salty wind buffeted her face. On the horizon, she could just barely make out a darker, thicker hint of blue, which looked like it could be land. A small and dinghy rowboat was pulled up on the shore a few feet away, and a seagull peered into it curiously.

"Where are we?" she asked wonderingly.

Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not entirely sure," he replied. "Harry chose the location and helped Hermione – she's kinda our resident genius – set up the Portkeys. He said that he came here only once, a long time ago. It certainly looks pretty safe, doesn't it? I mean, with all of the anti-apparition jinxes and bedazzlement hexes and who-knows-what-all we have set up, it would be nearly impossible to get to this place if you didn't know exactly where it was."

Diane nodded and sat down. The inquisitive seagull from the rowboat hopped over and tapped at her boot.

"I owe you a thank you, Charlie," she said, keeping her eyes carefully on the horizon. He looked at her in surprise.

"For what?" he asked. "I brought this on you by showing up at your apartment. I should be apologizing for dragging you into danger."

"Well, that's true." She smiled. "But you _did_ save me at St. Mungo's when I lost my wand. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't done that."

A guilty expression passed over Charlie's face. "I was only there because I had followed you to work. I needed to make sure that nothing happened to you."

She gave him a sharp look, but then turned her face away again and sighed. "You did warn me, I suppose. I would be mad, but it turned out to be a damn good thing that you were there." She rounded on him suddenly. "Just _don't do it again._"

He held up his hands. "Don't worry. I won't."

"I'm a powerful witch, Charlie, not a little girl. I was better at magic than you in school, and I'm probably still better than you; I wouldn't have become a Healer if I hadn't gotten top marks, after all." She hugged her knees to her chest. "I've never needed protecting, but I certainly don't need it now. Or from you."

He was silent a moment in the face of her fierce eyes. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Diane…I know that. You're a very strong woman, and you can take care of yourself. It's just…I'm worried. I don't really know what's going on here, but it's _bad_, whatever it is." He sat down beside her, and the seagull fled, flying out across the gray waters. "There are dark clouds on the horizon."

Diane gazed out across the sea. Above the waves, the sky was endlessly crisp and clear and blue.

She sighed again and lay back against the sun-bathed rock. It was soothingly warm against her skin. Her headache had disappeared, but in its place was a tiredness that reached down into her bones. She made a small, sleepy noise, and started to sit up again, but Charlie placed a hand softly on her shoulder.

"It's okay. You watched over me last night. It'll be my turn to watch over you."

Her protests and reservations faded as a warm, dreamless sleep stole over her.

* * *

She awoke to find Charlie shaking her shoulder. The sun had set below the horizon, and in the dusky half-light, the sea and the sky were the exact same color. For a moment, she felt completely disoriented; unsure of which way was up, which way down. The warmth of the sun had disappeared, and she shivered in the cold breeze that gusted up from the water.

"Come on, Diane. Harry and Ron want to talk to us. Let's go inside."

Shaking the sleep from her eyes, she followed him back in. The run-down wooden house creaked like an old ship as the wind hit it, but a large fire in the fireplace made the room a little more welcoming. Fiona was asleep on the moth-eaten couch, and Harry, Ron, and a petite red-haired girl were sitting around a small card-table where a lantern burned brightly.

Diane shook her sister awake, and Harry conjured more seats so everyone could sit around the table.

"I'm Ginny," said the young, red-head woman, waving casually to them. Her voice was bright and clear, but dark circles hung under her eyes and her hair looked rather greasy and unkempt. Despite this, she had a very pretty face, and a lively fire burned in her eyes in spite of her obvious exhaustion.

"Okay." Harry Potter clasped his hands together on the table. "We think we have a plan that will ensure everyone's safety while maintaining the secrecy of our mission. We'll have to move fast, though. Fiona, will you have any trouble convincing your husband to come with us?"

She shook her head and tilted her chin up. "He doesn't understand much about the wizarding world, but he'll listen to me. We had to go into hiding three years ago when Voldemort was in power. He trusts me and he'll do what I say."

"Good. We're going to send you to Hogwarts. Even with Dumbledore gone, it's easily the safest place in Britain, and you can lay low there until it's safe. I've already spoken to the Headmistress, and she says that it will be simple for them to accommodate you. They could actually use some help with their classes on Muggle Studies: after Voldemort's fall, they made it a required class for all students, and the current teacher is having trouble handling the large numbers. You and your husband would probably be very qualified to help teach."

"Oh!" Fiona's eyes were wide. "I think he'd be delighted."

"So it's settled then. Both of you will leave for Hogwarts first thing in the morning and…"

"No," said Diane. Everyone looked up at her in surprise. She turned to Charlie. "What about Watson?"

"Watson?" Ron asked in a rather shocked voice.

"Her trainee healer," Charlie clarified uneasily. "He helped her nurse me back to health, but he was captured when St. Mungo's was attacked."

"Dammit!" exclaimed Harry. Ginny laid a gentle hand on his arm. "How much did he know?"

Again, everyone looked at Diane. "Almost nothing. I told him that I might have put him at risk by asking him to help, and, obviously, he knew that Charlie had had a run in with some very dark magic, but other than that…" She shrugged. "Nothing. I didn't even tell him Charlie's name."

Harry relaxed. "Okay. In that case, we can get you two off somewhere safe, and then we can figure out a way to rescue this guy. Ron and I have some things we need to take care of, but Charlie, maybe you could do some investigating: find out where they're keeping him, how heavily guarded he is. Then when we get back…"

But Diane was shaking her head from side to side, her eyes narrowed. "No," she said again, more firmly this time.

"Diane." Charlie's voice was soft and furtive. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean, I'm not going to sit idly by, wondering whether he's okay." She swallowed. "Wondering whether he's alive."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"_I_ ought to help find him. I'm not going to quietly go into hiding while you do all the work."

"Diane, we _know_ you're capable, but we've got this under control…"

Harry cleared his throat. "It's more than that. We're performing a very perilous balancing act here: Ron is on the run from both the Ministry of Magic and an unnamed group of dark wizards. I am trying to keep up the pretense of _working_ for the Ministry and pretending that I know nothing about the whereabouts of my best friend while conducting my own investigations about the people who framed him. _And_ we have to keep my wife safe because she refuses to stay home and out of this mess." Ginny punched him lightly in the shoulder and smirked. "It is not a question of doubting your personal abilities; we simply cannot afford to have someone who knows about this operation in a position where she could be captured and made to give up information about us."

"Sis, I think you should listen to them." Fiona whispered.

"You don't understand!" Diane burst out. "I was _responsible_ for him; I still am. As his supervisor and his teacher, it was my _duty_ to keep him safe. _Mine_, and no one else's while he worked under me. And I failed him." Charlie put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and lifted her chin, jaw set defiantly. "I owe it to him to be the one to get him out of whatever danger _I_ have put him in."

A silence followed her words, and the wind howled shrilly against the worn wooden boards of the small house.

"This is my fault," she said in a much lower voice. "_I_ have to fix it."

"Technically," Ron said brightly, "I think it's actually Charlie's fault."

Ginny smacked him before turning to face Diane with serious eyes. "Do you at least have a plan?" she asked with an edge to her voice.

Diane nodded. "A tracking charm."

Harry furrowed his brow. "But that requires something from the person to be tracked, doesn't it? Like a polyjuice potion. Do you have something of his?"

"Not exactly," she replied. "But St. Mungo's is very selective and very _careful_ about who they hire. Part of the protocol when you become a Healer – or even a trainee – involves undergoing a series of tests so they can be sure that you are who you say you are and that your intentions are good, and these include the testing of blood and hair samples. I believe that these samples remain with the employee files for future reference."

Ron spoke up. "So you're suggesting that you break into St. Mungo's and steal this guy Watson's files, and then use whatever samples are there to find him with a tracking charm?"

"Assuming that you pull that off and the tracking charm works, what are you planning on doing when you find him?" asked Harry.

"I haven't figured that part out yet. But I know my way around the hospital and I know Watson." She met Harry's green eyes. "_Please_ let me do this."

"She does seem awfully stubborn, mate," said Ron. "And that probably means she won't be likely to crack if she's captured."

Harry nodded slowly. "Alright."

"I'll go with her," Charlie said quickly. "It's probably safer if we travel in pairs." Diane shot him a look, which he blatantly ignored.

"Right then." Ron rubbed his hands together. "So Harry and I will set out tomorrow on our own business, and Charlie and Diane will try this harebrained rescue scheme. And Ginny and Dad can escort Fiona and her husband to Hogwarts."

"No," Harry snapped. "Ginny should stay here."

"_Harry_." Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'll probably be in _more_ danger if I stay here by myself."

For a moment, the couple eyed each other tensely, but then Harry backed down.

"Alright," he said ruefully. "But in that case we should all probably turn in now, and try to get some sleep."

"Excellent!" said Ron. "There are only two rooms in this hut, so I suppose we can put the girls in one room and us men in the other."

"Excuse me," said Harry, reddening slightly. "But I would rather like to be in the same room as my wife."

"Oh." Ron's ears turned pink. "Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting that."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

* * *

They eventually settled it so that the Weasley boys would sleep together in the small bedroom with their father, while Diane, Fiona, and the Potters would share the larger living room area. Harry claimed the sagging couch for Ginny's bed, arranging his own blankets on the floor just beneath her. The two sisters stretched out in front of the fire, huddled in some old quilts.

Despite the slightly moldy blankets, it was quite comfortable in front of the fire. The flames crackled cheerfully while outside the waves crashed against the rocks in an endless, buzzing roar. Fiona was asleep within minutes, and the sound of her gentle snoring brought back memories of a time, ages and ages ago, when they were children and had slept together much like this, each inches away from the other's warm body, wrapped in moth-eaten quilts. Diane watched her sister's peaceful face, noticing the way her eyebrows arched inquisitively up, even in sleep, and the small circle her mouth made as it drooped lazily open. Soon she found herself drifting off, lulled by the sea and the rhythmic pattern of Fiona's soft breathing.

The fire had died down to softly glowing embers when she awoke suddenly, startled into consciousness by a noise. Lying stock still, she listened intently.

"Psst!"

She looked in the direction of the sound. In the darkness of the room, she could just barely make out Ginny's silhouette, sitting upright on the couch.

"Psst! Harry!"

Diane relaxed into her quilts. Nothing to be worried about.

"Harry!"

"Ginny? What time is it?"

"Harry, I need to talk to you."

Blankets rustled in the dark. "What's up?"

"I think that my brother may actually be right about something. Don't take this the wrong way, but you have seemed a little…overcautious recently." There was a silence. "Or, more specifically, a little too overprotective. Of me."

"Ginny, I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"Harry, we're going to be fine. I promise, okay? I am a very competent witch, and I would be going crazy if I had to sit in our apartment all day worrying about you."

"Are you sure that no one will suspect anything because you're gone?"

"It's the off-season, honey. You know that. The team won't need me again until try-outs after Christmas. Everyone thinks that I've gone to train in Bulgaria. They don't suspect a thing; nobody'll miss me."

"I'm sure they'll miss you."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Look, you need to stop worrying. Ron is right: you're not acting like yourself."

"I guess that the idea of fatherhood can do that to a person."

Ginny chuckled. "I'm not even showing yet. I mean, really. It's not as though I can't walk around or wave my wand. I'm still perfectly capable and I'm going to be so for a while, so you may as well get used to it."

Sounding rather more nervous than his wife, Harry chuckled as well. "I don't want to think about what Ron's going to say when he learns I knocked up his sister."

"Oh, stop it. I'm sure he'll be very happy for us. You need to stop worrying so much."

"It's hard not too."

"I know, but you have to try." She sighed. "I really don't understand how Hermione does it. I mean, I know she's got her own work, but if I had to be away from you as much as she has to be away from Ron…"

"Well, she's been watched closely by the Ministry ever since Ron went on the run. She can't afford to tip them off as to where he is."

"I realize that. But still…she's being awfully brave."

"Yeah. She is."

"Are you going to stop worrying so much about me?"

"Never."

Ginny groaned. "I don't know why I married you sometimes, you hard-headed worrywart."

Harry snickered. "Yes, you do."

"Yes. I do. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, love."

Diane stared into the glimmering embers of the fire as silence again enveloped the room, feeling both amazed and very, strangely, lonely.


	6. The Swelling Star

"So, you have a plan, right?" Charlie prodded, shoveling porridge into his mouth.

"I'm working on it, Charlie. Leave me alone. And don't talk with your mouth full." The night's rest had done wonders for Diane's headache, but she had the feeling it would be back soon enough if Charlie kept badgering her.

He swallowed. "You sound like my mother."

"Who sounds like Molly?"

Diane turned to see an older, balding wizard enter the room. He wore a pair of crooked glasses, and moved rather gingerly and stiffly toward the fireplace. The little hair he had was the same flaming red as that of Charlie, Ron, and Ginny.

"Dad!" Charlie exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "You're up! How are you feeling?"

Mr. Weasley waved his son away and spooned some porridge out of the pot on the hearth. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just a little stiff and _very_ hungry." He straightened up, bowl in hand, and noticed Diane. "Who's this? Is she the Healer that Ron was talking about?"

"Yes, she is." Charlie nudged Diane forward. "Dad, this is Healer Diane McKenna. Diane, this is my father, Arthur Weasley."

Mr. Weasley leaned back and peered at Diane through his glasses, furrowing his brow as he studied her face. "Didn't you come to the Burrow once? Over the Christmas holidays when Charlie was still at Hogwarts?"

Taken aback, Diane nodded. She was amazed that he remembered: _she_ barely remembered that winter immediately after her parents' divorce, when Charlie had invited her to stay with his family so she wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone. It had been so long ago, more than ten years…

A grin spread across Mr. Weasley's face. "No need to look so surprised. I'm good with faces. Especially the faces of young girls that my sons bring home."

Diane flushed deeply, and spluttered, "No, we never…"

He winked at her. "Don't worry, dear. I believed Charlie when he told us you were just a friend. Molly, on the other hand…She starts thinking about grandchildren if a woman so much as _looks_ at one of our boys. She was quite disappointed when you didn't come back the next year."

They were interrupted as Harry and Ron entered the room, dressed in traveling cloaks and carrying three broomsticks. Ginny and Fiona, who had been chatting amiably together on the couch, got up and joined the group as Ron began to speak.

"Here we are. I'm glad that you and Ginny are making friends," he said, addressing Fiona, "because you have quite a journey ahead. The two of you and my dad will be traveling on broomstick to collect your husband and then head to Hogwarts. Normally, we would have you apparate to Hogsmeade and walk from there, but things can go…badly when wizards try to do side-along apparition with muggles. This way will take longer, but is probably much safer for your husband."

Fiona nodded, and she, Ginny, and Arthur all grabbed brooms.

"We'll all go outside to see you off," said Harry, slinging his arm protectively around Ginny's shoulder. She made a face but allowed him to guide her out the door as the others trailed along behind them.

"If all goes well, we'll meet you at Hogwarts in a couple of days," said Ron. "Headmistress McGonagall knows what's going on, and she's calling together some people who may be able to help: people who fought against Voldemort the last time he appeared." The salty wind kicked up the edges of their robes, and Diane saw Fiona's knuckles whiten as she tightened her clutch on her broomstick. "Good luck, you three. Stay safe."

Harry kissed Ginny tenderly on the mouth as Ron, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley suddenly became very interested in the sea-worn rock beneath their feet.

"So – ahem – shall we be going now?" coughed Mr. Weasley after his daughter and son-in-law had broken apart.

Ginny smiled brightly. "Let's."

The two Weasley's mounted their brooms on either side of Fiona, and then all three kicked off, rising rapidly through the misty morning air until they were nothing but black dots high above. Diane watched her sister's speck for another moment before turning to look at Charlie.

"Now what?"

He motioned her into the grimy rowboat, where Ron and Harry were already sitting. Harry tapped his wand sharply on the side of the boat, and the little vessel shot off towards the darker haze on the horizon that meant land.

"Once we get to shore and out of range of the anti-apparition jinx, we'll part ways with Harry and Ron," Charlie explained. "I assume we're headed to London. Do you know how we're going to get into St. Mungo's to steal the files yet? I don't think either of us can risk being recognized."

"Well, I've given that some thought, and I think I've come up with something." Diane smiled. "You remember Professor Kettleburn?"

* * *

Diane appeared face-to-face with a large bronze knocker in the shape of a snarling dragon's head. Charlie, still clutching her arm from the side-along apparition, gasped and took a step back before regaining his composure.

"Wow," he breathed, moving closer. "Look at the detail. It's a Norwegian Ridgeback. There's the extra-large fourth tooth, the sensory pits along the jaws. Did you know the Ridgeback is the only dragon that gets most of its food from the ocean?" He knelt down, peering up into the knocker's mouth. "It even has the tri-forked tongue!" He stood back up. "And the ridge starts just behind the supratemporal fenestra! This is incredible work. You know, once, in Romania, I got to work with a juvenile…"

When he turned to face Diane, her arms were crossed over her chest, one brow raised appraisingly.

"Oh," he said, expression falling. "Well, I suppose we should probably just knock."

He grasped the knocker that hung from the dragon's nostrils and brought it down once, twice, three times. Abruptly, a small jet of fire shot from the dragon's mouth, narrowly missing Charlie's hand. He stepped back quickly, almost bumping into Diane.

"What the…?"

The dragon's bulging eyes had come alive, and rotated to gaze coldly at Diane and Charlie.

"What now?" Charlie whispered.

Diane stepped forward. "Hello," she said, addressing the knocker. "I'm Diane McKenna, and this is Charlie Weasley. We're old students of Professor Kettleburn. I came to visit a few times, several years ago, but…er…you weren't alive then. We'd just like to talk with him, if he's home."

The dragon tossed its head rather regally, and then went still. The heavy oak door creaked open.

"Well," said Charlie cheerfully. "Inside then?"

They found themselves in a rather dark entryway, empty except for a lamp and a large glass case full of squirming double-ended newts.

"I guess we wait here," Diane said, peering down at the newts. One of them appeared to be fighting with itself, while another was using both heads to chow down on a large pile of dead lacewing flies in the corner of the enclosure.

"Kettleburn isn't much in the way of a host, is he?" Charlie sighed rather grumpily, leaning against the wall. "How does he figure into this plan of yours anyway?"

"He's got a creature that'll guarantee us a great disguise and a way into the hospital that won't arouse suspicion. It's…wait." Diane stopped speaking and listened intently. "Did you hear something?"

They both stood still. There it was: a rustling, animal-like scurrying sound coming closer to the room they were in.

"Do you think one of his creatures got loose?" Charlie asked.

"Dunno," Diane muttered back. "Might be a good idea to have wands out, though. Just in case."

The sound was very close now, in the next room over. There was a sudden quiet as whatever it was seemed to pause at the door.

"It probably can't get through," Diane said dismissively, moving to put away her wand.

But then there was a burst of noise, and a click as the doorknob turned and unlatched. The door swung open, and out of it, charging at them headlong, came…

"A dog?" Charlie exclaimed.

"A crup," Diane corrected, laughing.

The knee-high creature circled Charlie warily, sniffing at his shoes before jumping skittishly away. Aside from its forked tail, it looked for all the world like a Jack Russel terrier.

"I forgot that Kettleburn had one," she said, kneeling down and extending her hand to it. "Hey there, girl," she whispered. "I think we've met before, when you were just a puppy."

The crup approached and sniffed at her fingers cautiously before consenting to let her scratch it behind the ears.

"What a smart thing you are," she breathed. "How did you open the door?" The crup barked at her, wagging its little forked tail as if immensely proud of itself.

Charlie sat beside them, and patted the little creature gently on the head. It licked at his fingers affectionately.

"Hey, Diane. I like animals as much as anyone, and this one seems awfully nice, but we have limited time. If we want to find Kettleburn, we should probably get moving."

Diane straightened up. "Alright. I'd rather not go wandering through his house, but we _do_ need to find him."

The crup yapped at them loudly, and they both turned to look at it. Charlie grinned.

"Maybe we don't have to go wandering through his house." He knelt and looked into the crup's face. "Hey there. You seem awfully smart. We're looking for your master. Do you think you could take us to him?"

The crup yipped rather excitedly, and sped off in the way that it had come, Charlie and Diane close on its heels.

It led them up a rickety staircase and through a room that was half-covered in sand, where a pair of fire crabs were happily burrowing. They tore down a narrow hallway until it dead-ended into a large door. The crup barked and nudged Charlie's leg forward.

"Through here, I suppose. Shall we?"

She followed him into the room, and almost ran into him when he froze a few feet in front of the door. Looking up, she saw what had made Charlie stop in his tracks, and felt her eyes go wide.

One entire wall of the large room was taken up by an enormous fish tank, filled with hundreds of large, silver fish. The aquarium was set up in front of a large window, and the sun shone through it, making the entire room appear to be swimming in dancing strips of light. The fish flitted through the water, glinting like mercury, and reflected flashes of silver onto the bookshelves on the opposite wall. Brightly colored coral sat at the bottom of the tank, and the silver fish danced through it like lightning around a rainbow.

"Welcome!" called a voice from the far side of the room. "I'm glad that Jane managed to guide you up to my study. I would have come down myself, but I'm in the midst of a rather delicate operation. Allow me to just finish milking this glumbumble…"

Diane tore her eyes away from the aquarium, and saw an old man sitting at a large desk across from the door, surrounded by small glass cases. Leaving Charlie staring into the fish tank, she approached the desk. Professor Kettleburn had a small furry insect pinned down between his thumb and forefinger, and was prodding its abdomen firmly with his wand. It seemed to be leaking an inky black fluid, which Kettleburn adeptly collected in a small vial every few seconds.

"There we are!" he exclaimed finally. Grasping the glumbumble by its wings, he whisked it into a glass container about the size of a small teapot, and closed the lid tightly. "Now: Diane McKenna and Charlie Weasley! Two of my best students! What can I do for you?"

"Huh?" Charlie turned dumbly away from the shimmering silver fish, his eyes slightly glazed over.

"Ah, I see you've been admiring my Ramora collection. Mesmerizing, aren't they? I put them in my study where I do most of my research because they're supposed to be good luck, but I'm afraid they're so distracting that they've hurt my work more than helped it. Of course, I had to get special permission to own them in the first place: I'm studying the way they breed. It's really quite fascinating. You see…"

"Professor Kettleburn?" Diane interrupted politely.

"Oh, yes. Of course. Shall we sit down?"

Kettleburn stood and motioned them over to some comfortable-looking armchairs in front of the bookshelves. Despite his old age, he was an imposing man, at least a head taller than either Diane or Charlie with broad, powerful shoulders. Although wrinkles covered his face, his eyes were sharp and his jaw heavy. A bald spot glinted on the top of his head, but the rest of his hair was worn long, pulled back into a braid that reached down to his hips. The most remarkable thing about him though, was his limbs. Only one of them, his right arm, was fully intact. His left leg stopped at the knee, where a wooden peg continued the rest of the way to the floor. The other leg was made entirely of wood and carved with strange runes. Several springs and levers around the knee and hip seemed to enable it to move like a normal leg. His left arm was made of solid bronze, and Diane was amazed to see the fingers move, albeit a bit stiffly, as Kettleburn pulled up his chair.

"I see you have a new arm, Professor," she commented as they took their seats. "It's quite nice."

"Oh, isn't it? McGowan forged it and spelled it for me. He did such a good job that I asked him to make me a new knocker as well – but I suppose you two have already seen that." He held up his arm and waggled the fingers. "Not the same as a real arm, of course, but it's certainly the best false arm I've ever had."

"I'm – erm – still sorry about your leg, Professor," Charlie said rather sheepishly.

"Oh, don't be silly, dear boy! Albus – excuse me – Professor Dumbledore was absolutely right: I should never have done a lesson with a live dragon." He looked suddenly cross. "Even if it was just a Welsh Green. And a juvenile." He brightened up again. "Anyway, your idea to see if a dragon could become accustomed to a vegetarian diet was really a splendid idea for a research project. It wasn't at all your fault that it ended up trying to eat my leg. Tell me, as a dragon keeper, did you ever replicate the experiment? Can a dragon live without meat?"

Charlie shook his head. "I did. And they can't."

Kettleburn sighed. "Pity."

Diane butted in. "Excuse me, sir, but we're actually here because I'm doing some research of my own, at St. Mungo's. It's on a less interesting subject than dragon diet, but important none the less."

"Really? I'll help in whatever way I can, of course. Most of my own research isn't all that exciting anymore: there's only so much you can do with one complete limb, after all. What're you researching?"

"The Edemanemone."

"Gesundheit," Charlie said. "Is that like edamame? I've had some of that stuff before, when I was in Asia working with Chinese Fireballs. I'm not a big fan of it."

"No," Diane replied, nudging him meaningfully. "That's the creature you're helping me research, remember? Honestly, did you ever pay attention to magical creatures that _weren't_ enormous and dangerous?"

"No," Charlie huffed rather childishly. "It's just been a long time since I took Care of Magical Creatures, and I've been working with dragons for the last decade. _Excuse me_ if I'm a bit rusty on other creatures."

"Look at you." Professor Kettleburn beamed. "Bickering like an old married couple. Are you two together? Because, you know, Hagrid and I always said that it would be just perfect if the pair of you got married and ran off to raise dragons together. You were both so talented with animals…"

"No!" exclaimed Charlie and Diane as one. They looked at each other and then looked away again quickly.

"No," said Diane, much more evenly. "We are rather decidedly _not_ together. Charlie had just volunteered to help me study the effects of the Edemanemone sting and its possible treatments. It's very hard to find volunteers for these sorts of experiments, so we have to study the effects of the sting on ourselves. I've just been having trouble finding any specimens, and I thought that you might have some."

"Of course. I'm always happy to help a fellow magozoologist. Would you mind fetching me a small tank? There should be a couple of empty ones filled with water over by my desk."

Glad to no longer be sitting next to Charlie, Diane got up and returned in a moment with a square glass box filled with water.

"Alright. Here we go. _Accio Edemanemone!_"

What looked like a small purple sea urchin rocketed off of its perch on some coral in the large Ramora tank and shot quickly upwards, leaving a stream of bubbles in its path. The silver fish twisted out of its way, seemingly wary of touching it. It flew out of the water and landed with a splash in Kettleburn's small tank.

"Here you are! The Edemanemone, commonly called the Swelling Star. A rare and magical sea anemone whose sting induces a variety of unpleasant symptoms, including generalized cutaneous edema, severe facial edema, alopecia, random epidermal discoloration, laryngeal distortion, and inflammation. Fortunately for its victims, these effects generally wear off within about three to four hours, but can be mildly painful and severely embarrassing while they last."

"Sir, do you mind if we expose ourselves to it here?" Diane inquired. "We're headed directly to St. Mungo's to begin research from here, and that way we wouldn't need to take it with us."

"Of course, my dear," replied Kettleburn, his mouth twitching. "Besides, this is something I would rather like to see."

Charlie looked rather pale as Diane extended the tank towards him. "What do I do?"

"Just touch it," she told him, her voice much more calm than she actually felt. "You'll feel a sharp burning sensation as it stings you, but it won't be very painful."

He swallowed. "Alright." He rolled up his sleeve and plunged his arm into the water. He flinched slightly as he touched the tentacles.

"That wasn't so bad," he said, smiling, as he withdrew his hand from the water. Professor Kettleburn chuckled.

Diane tried to ignore him as she dipped her own hand into the tank. As her fingers brushed the Swelling Star, she felt a sudden pain, and then a tingling warmth that was almost pleasant. Shaking the water off her hand, she handed the tank back to Professor Kettleburn.

"Now what?" Charlie asked, looking considerably more cheerful than he had a moment ago.

Diane knew that that wasn't going to last very long. "Just wait."

"There's a mirror in the washroom just down the hallway. You know: if you'd like to make initial observations." Kettleburn was no longer holding back his grin. "Jane can guide you there if you like."

Feeling suddenly rather woozy, Diane followed the little crup out of the room, Charlie close behind her. They reached a door, and Jane barked and pawed at it happily.

"Thanks," Diane told her, and then abruptly collapsed onto the floor.

She was in pain – a hot, burning, liquid pain that seemed to be struggling to explode out of her body like too much air out of an already-filled balloon. It scalded her insides, pushing painfully against her skin, stinging and throbbing. Her face and her head hurt the worst: it felt as though she were being stung by a thousand tiny nettles, as though her skin was being stretched and stretched until it had to tear, as though her scalp was being burned off. Soon her body would burst; it couldn't take this pressure very much longer…

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the pain stopped. She still felt a subtle throbbing in her head, a bit of a tightness in her skin, but it was just a mild discomfort that couldn't be compared to the pain she had felt just a moment ago. She lay on the floor for a moment, breathless and exhausted. Behind her, she heard Charlie rise to his feet.

"Diane," he whispered. And then: "Oh, Merlin."

He rushed past her, throwing open the door to the washroom and hurrying in. From inside, she heard a low, pained groan.

Figuring she may as well get it over with, Diane pushed herself up and followed him in.

A grotesque…thing stared back at her from the mirror. Its face was swollen past recognition, its nose shaped like a tennis ball, its eyes almost covered by protruding flesh. The skin was shiny from the swelling and mottled a strange purple color, and the head was enormous and completely hairless. Diane looked down. Her fingers looked like purple sausages; her robes were pulled taut around her balloon-like body.

Charlie moaned again, and Diane glanced over at him. He looked almost exactly like the thing she had seen in the mirror, except his skin was splotched with areas of vivid green.

"_This_ was your plan!" he groaned. "In what universe was _this _a good idea."

She tried to cross her arms over her chest, before figuring out that her arms were too swollen to allow it. "This is a great plan. You have to admit that no one will be able to recognize us, and the hospital will definitely admit us. But the best part is, they won't be able to cure us."

"What? What do you mean they won't be able to cure us?"

"Well, there's no one there who specializes in injuries sustained by magical creatures."

"Why the hell not?" Charlie bellowed. "What kind of bloody hospital is this?"

"Charlie," Diane said slowly. "They won't be able to cure us because _I_ am the magical creature specialist. And we don't _want_ them to cure us because we want to go unrecognized and spend as much time in the hospital as possible."

"Oh, right." There was a pause. "Good plan, I guess."

Diane tried to grin, but found that her swollen cheeks resisted. "Thanks."

"But my hair!" Charlie moaned, running a mammoth hand over his bald head. "What happened to my hair?"

"Merlin, Charlie. Don't you know that 'alopecia' is just a fancy word for baldness? Kettleburn told you exactly what would happen."

Charlie said nothing, staring petulantly into the mirror.

"Besides, someone might have recognized that terrible orange hair of yours, and then where would we be?"

"My hair's not terrible," he muttered sulkily.

"No," she sighed. "It's not terrible. But it might have got us caught." She held out her arm. "Now, come on. We need to go."

He grabbed her arm, and she had to restrain a giggle at the sight of the two of them, swollen and bald, purple and green, clutching each other in the mirror like a pair of mountain trolls. Jane barked at them, and Diane imagined that she was probably laughing.

And then, with a pop, they were gone.

* * *

**Please take a moment to review. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Mama Theresa

Christopher Nidos was having a bad day.

He had been taken off duty in his usual ward (So what if he was the youngest Healer at St. Mungo's? So what if the Dragon Injuries Ward didn't usually have too many difficult cases? That didn't mean that _he_ had to solve everyone else's problems) and put temporarily in charge of the Newt Scamander Ward for Creature-Induced Injuries, which was a Very Bad Idea on the part of whoever was in charge, because he had _no idea_ how to treat most of the patients. He was pretty good at making up clever things to say and "treatment options" to try, but this was getting very ridiculous very quickly. Eventually, someone would come in with a serious case, and it would be his fault if they got hurt.

Considering the extreme budget cuts the hospital was facing, he couldn't very well afford to have something like that on his file when it came time for their biannual review. He'd only been a fully-fledged Healer for a few months, and was likely to be among the first to get the boot anyway. He didn't want to give anyone any more ammunition to throw at him.

And to top it all off, his family was coming over for dinner that night. His entire, enormous, loud family. His mother would kill him if she found out that he'd lost his job as a Healer. He could hear her screeching in his ear already: "How could you do this? I might have expected it of one of your brothers, but you? You were supposed to be the good one, the smart one. Not like Alexander or Dmitri or Milo. How could you hurt your family like this?"

He was rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to fight the headache he could already feel coming on, when he saw the two patients who had just entered the ward. He almost dropped his tea.

They looked like balloon animals, all swollen and shiny and hairless. The taller one had a green tint to its skin and the other was mottled purple. Their faces were bloated and disfigured, and Christopher Nidos did not have the slightest idea what was wrong with them or how to treat them.

"Healer Nidos?" inquired the shorter one in a low, rather pained voice. "We were told to come to the Newt Scamander Ward. Are we in the right place?"

Chris sighed. At least he knew the answer to this question, though he rather wished he didn't. "Yes. This is the Newt Scamander Ward, and I'm the Healer-in-Charge. Hold on a moment while I find some free cots."

He directed them to two free beds and sat down between them, quill ready to take notes on whatever was wrong with these two. Not that it was likely to do much good.

"So…what happened?"

The two patients exchanged a look, and the green-tinted one spoke, in a high, shrill voice that reminded Chris of his mother. "We were vacationing in the mountains, going camping, when this _thing_ attacked us. We didn't get a good look at it, but it was furry, about this big, and very fast. It bit both of us, and then vanished. A few hours later, we started swelling up, our hair fell out, and…well, now look at us! Can you help us?"

Chris swallowed. "I'll do my best, ma'am."

"Ma'am?" exclaimed the balloon animal with the shrill voice. "I'm male. _She's_ the woman. This damn thing must have affected my vocal cords."

Chris might have imagined it, but he thought he saw the purple balloon animal (or rather, the swollen witch, he reminded himself) roll her eyes.

"Well, _sir_, I think I may know what's wrong with you. I just need to do a bit of research. If I'm right, then you'll be back to normal as soon as I brew a simple potion."

This time, he was _sure_ he saw the witch roll her eyes. Praying to Saint Mungo that she didn't know he had no idea what he was talking about, Chris hurried off, hoping to beg some help from Jeremiah Salk up in Research, or maybe from that pretty Patil girl who was his new assistant. Pleading obnoxiously for diagnoses wasn't the best way to win dates, but it sure beat being unemployed.

* * *

"Do I really sound like a woman?" Charlie asked once Nidos had left.

"Like Professor McGonagall," Diane muttered back at him as she glanced around the room. "Come on, we ought to get moving. I don't know how long Nidos will be gone."

He nodded and followed after her. Struggling to maneuver their swollen bodies, they waddled down the ward and out into the hall. Diane turned towards the elevators.

"Where are we headed?" Charlie breathed from behind her.

"Top floor," she replied. "That's where the administrative offices are, and hopefully where we'll find Watson's files."

"Hopefully? What if they aren't there? Do you have another plan?"

The elevator doors bing-ed closed behind them and Diane rounded on him, her eyes fierce and full of fire. "They'll be there. I know it."

He met her gaze steadily and said nothing. Instead, he reached out a hand to touch her arm, softly and reassuringly. It wasn't until his swollen fingers brushed her elbow that Diane realized that she was terrified. Her heart beat far faster than it should, something was constricting her throat, and she was more scared than she had ever been in her life. What if this didn't work? What if they were too late and something had already happened to Watson? She hadn't asked for any of this. Just two days ago, she had been leading a normal life. Her biggest worries had concerned getting published in a magical journal and trying to rein in an unruly trainee. And now…?

She felt Charlie's warm gaze still on her face as a quiet bing and the whoosh of the doors announced their arrival on the top floor. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward.

"Watson will be fine," she whispered to herself. "We're going to find him."

She quickly guided Charlie past the cafeteria and down the hallway, moving cautiously and listening for the sounds of people. Patients weren't supposed to be in this part of the hospital; it would raise a lot of questions if they were discovered. They passed several small offices – the Research department, Mark Abbott's bookkeeping office – before arriving at a polished wooden door bearing a small gold nameplate.

In a professional, blocky type, it read, "Theresa Bonham; M.H.; Order of Merlin, Third Class." And below, in slightly smaller letters: "St. Mungo's Chief of Staff."

"This is it," Diane breathed.

Charlie jiggled the knob. "It's locked."

Diane drew her wand. "Well, that's no problem, is it? _Alohomora._"

The lock clicked, and together they hurried inside.

The office was sparsely but expensively furnished, and very, very clean. A large cabinet with many rows of neat, unlabeled drawers spanned the left-had wall, its upper surface tidy and decorated with small, impossibly-detailed cutaway models of the human body.

"This Bonham woman is a bit of a neat-freak, eh?" Charlie asked, stepping forward to examine the enormous, immaculately organized desk that took up most of the room as Diane headed towards the cabinet. "I don't even think _Percy_ kept his stuff this clean."

Diane ignored him, opening and closing drawer after drawer. Patient files, annual budgets, rough drafts of articles for various magical journals, yearly summaries from the Research Department…The drawers seemed to go on forever, each containing perfectly ordered parchments that she didn't need.

"Come on," Diane whispered, her search becoming more and more haphazard. "It's got to be here…"

"This might be something!" Charlie exclaimed, and Diane stopped, turning on her haunches to look at him. "It looks like an employee file! No, wait…it's just a disciplinary write-up. A certain A. Pye was apparently using some unconventional and dangerous methods to treat a patient." Diane turned back around, her jaw clenched firmly, and resumed her search. Charlie let out a low whistle. "Wow, this is the fifth time this has happened. Pye ought to be more careful…"

Diane tugged open another drawer, and paused. Inside, a metal box took up the first half of the compartment, and a neat row of green folders filled the second. On the first folder, in small, careful print, was the name, "Alexander, Leonidas," which Diane recognized as the elderly Healer from the Transfiguration Accidents Ward.

"Charlie," she murmured without looking back at him. "I think I've found them."

She began to dig through the green folders, skipping past her own name and plowing on to the last few until she found, in the same careful hand, the name, "Watson, John (Jack)."

Charlie hovered behind her shoulder as she drew out the file with hands that trembled more than she cared to admit. She opened it, tearing through the parchments, through a disciplinary report that she herself had written, until she reached the application he had submitted to become a trainee almost two years ago.

"That's it," she said, her voice flat. "That's it. The samples aren't here."

For a moment, the room was silent and still. The lungs of the small cutaway model demonstrating the human respiratory system expanded and contracted, expanded and contracted in the quiet. Diane felt as though her own lungs wouldn't work properly; her breath refused to come. Disappointment descended over her, crushing her into Theresa Bonham's polished wooden floor. She had been so sure that the samples would be here, so completely sure…

"Wait a minute," Charlie said suddenly. "What's in the box?"

"The box?"

"Yeah." He pointed. "There, in front of those folders." He reached inside and withdrew the metal box, placing it in front of her. "Careful, the thing's cold."

Diane sucked in a deep breath of air and held it as she fiddled with the box's fastener with hands that refused to work properly. Finally, the lid fell open and she felt a blast of cold air waft against her face as she looked inside.

With a great sigh, she let out the breath she had been holding. Inside, rimed with the frost of a freezing charm, were rows of slides and cover slips, each containing a single dot of crimson blood.

"Thank Merlin," she whispered. "Charlie, c'mere and help me find Watson's."

He moved forward, when the noise of footsteps and low voices suddenly came from the hallway.

"Damn," Charlie swore. "Someone's coming. You found it yet?"

"No! I can't manage these stupid sausage-fingers!"

"Well, we have to hurry. It sounds like they're close."

Diane could hear the click of someone's boots getting closer and closer, but it was hard to read the extremely small hand in which the samples were labeled, and all but impossible to manage the thin slides with her swollen hands. "Merlin's _beard_!" she hissed in frustration. "I still can't find it!"

"Just take the whole box! We'll find it later."

She fastened the box back up, and hurried towards the door behind Charlie. He stopped suddenly in front of her and she almost ran into him.

"They're too close," he whispered. "If we try to get out now, they'll see us."

Diane turned wildly back around, scanning the austere room for any place to hide.

"There!" Charlie exclaimed, pointing to the open doorway of a small closet in the corner.

"Will we even fit?" Diane asked incredulously.

"One way to find out!" He grabbed her elbow, and guided her to the closet, stepped in behind her, and shut the door so that only a narrow strip of light remained.

It was only just in time. As soon as the closet door closed, the door to the office opened, and in walked Theresa Bonham herself, followed closely by Liz Blackwell.

Theresa Bonham was a large woman – taller even than Liz, and very wide compared to the younger witch's bony physique – but she carried her extra weight well. Her broad shoulders, her uplifted chin, her ramrod-straight back all conveyed a sense of power, perhaps even of majesty. She strode to her desk and sat down imperially behind its polished surface and neatly organized parchments.

"Please, Ms. Blackwell, sit down," she said, her voice slightly too loud for the small room.

Liz obeyed. She did not look very well. Her dark curls seemed lank, and there were circles underneath her eyes.

"So, Ms. Blackwell, what was it you needed to talk to me about?"

Liz leaned forward in her chair, her hands clenched together in her lap. "Well, ma'am, I was just wondering if you had heard any news of Diane McKenna or Jack Watson."

"Ah. Yes." Bonham's voice grew a bit quieter. "I'm afraid that we haven't. Were you close with them?"

"With Diane, yes. We went to Hogwarts together."

"I see. It certainly is a shame about her disappearance. We're having a field day trying to sort out the mess down in the Newt Scamander Ward."

"Is there any new information about the attackers?"

Bonham looked rather severely at Liz over her glasses. "That's classified information. The Magical Law Enforcement Squad is conducting an ongoing investigation. I'm really not at privilege to discuss anything they might choose to share with me." Her gaze softened slightly. "But, unfortunately, the answer to your question is no. They haven't come upon any new leads that I know of."

Liz leaned forward even farther. She seemed to be teetering on the edge of her seat, and her dark eyes were very bright. "Well, you see, Ma'am, I know that the Ministry is perfectly capable of handling this, but I've been doing some investigating on my own. And I thought that perhaps…"

Liz was cut off suddenly as the office door swung open.

"Theresa," pronounced a cold, clipped voice, "I've just come from the Ministry. There are several things we need to discuss with regards to…Oh." An icy pause followed. "My apologies. I didn't know you had company."

Diane craned her neck to try to see the new visitor through the small crack. Two men stood in the doorway, both wearing expensive, well-pressed robes. The pair looked closely related, as though they could be father and son, or perhaps even brothers: their Roman noses, thin lips, and piercingly blue eyes were almost identical.

The taller and older of the two stepped forward. His hair was close-cropped and shockingly white, though his eyebrows and moustache still matched the jet-black color of his companion's hair. He stood with his shoulders thrown back rather domineeringly, and looked down his long nose at the witches in front of him.

"We can leave," he said shortly, "If this is an inconvenient time."

The ghost of a frown flitted across Bonham's face. "Not at all. Do come in and sit down, Mr. Saltmarsh. I suppose that this is your son?" With a flick of her wand, she summoned two chairs, rather more posh than the one in which Liz sat, Diane noticed.

"Yes," said Saltmarsh, almost distastefully. "Thomas. Trying his hand at the family business."

Liz furrowed her brow. "Thomas Saltmarsh?" she asked, addressing the younger wizard. "I think we went to school together. You were a Slytherin, right? The Slytherins and Ravenclaws had Charms together. I _knew_ you looked familiar."

Astonished, Diane peered at him from her view in the closet as Charlie rose on tiptoe to try to see over her head. She remembered now: Thomas Saltmarsh had been one of their yearmates, a small, quiet boy who was a loner, even in Slytherin. He had filled out and grown almost a foot since she had seen him last, and his face looked much different underneath a dark goatee, but something of the scrawny kid she remembered still remained in the way he held his shoulders, in the almost feminine lashes around his blue eyes.

"That was a long time ago," said Thomas, in a much softer and slightly higher voice than his father. "I'm amazed that you remember."

"Mr. Saltmarsh," Bonham cut in, "This is Ms. Elizabeth Blackwell, our apothecary and potions mistress down the hall in Potions and Plants. Elizabeth, this is Mr. Edward Saltmarsh, the Head of the Ministry of Magic's Financial Board, and Thomas Saltmarsh, with whom it appears you are already acquainted."

"A pleasure," said Liz, smiling rather thinly and extending her hand. Edward Saltmarsh narrowed his eyes, but shook hands with her. "I suppose I should be going."

"That would probably be for the best," hissed Saltmarsh.

"Hold on a moment, Elizabeth," commanded Bonham. "The thing you wanted to talk to me about…"

"Oh, yes," replied Liz, glancing rather uneasily at Edward Saltmarsh. "That really wasn't all that important. Just a bit of a fancy on my part, really. I'm sure I can sort it out myself. Thank you for your time, Ma'am."

She strode out the door. Thomas' eyes followed her out as his father leaned back in his chair.

"This shouldn't take too long. There are only a couple of issues we need to discuss. First of all, we at the Ministry are deeply sorry to hear about the disappearance of those two Healers." Saltmarsh declined his head, but did not lower his gaze, leaving his eyes lingering shrewdly over Bonham's face.

"Yes," replied Bonham. "We're all very worried. McKenna was one of our best, a real asset to this hospital."

"From what I understand, though," continued Saltmarsh smoothly, "Magical Law Enforcement is working very hard to track down the culprits, and, on behalf of the Ministry, I must stress the fact that their investigation should not be hampered in any way, and that it would be unlawful for any individual to conduct any sort of inquiry regarding the disappearances on his or her own."

Diane's eyes flicked to Bonham's face to check for any look of surprise or guilt that might reveal what Liz had confided in her only a few moments ago. The Chief of Staff's face stayed as still and impassive as stone.

"Of course," she said dismissively. "That's only standard procedure, isn't it? I don't see why someone on the Finance Board would be bothered to have to remind me."

Saltmarsh pressed his lips together tightly. "It's just a friendly message from the Minister."

"Well, message received." Bonham laughed lightly. "What else can I do for you?"

Thomas Saltmarsh cleared his throat. "As I'm sure you're aware, St. Mungo's is facing a sharp drop in funding…"

"Of course I'm aware," snapped Bonham. "And frankly, the proposed cuts are nothing short of preposterous. Mungo's has been a Ministry-funded operation ever since Mungo Bonham founded it in the sixteenth century. We're a hospital, for Merlin's sake: without your money, we'll be running on nothing but donations, and those are awfully scant these days."

"Well, unfortunately you will just have to _make do_." Saltmarsh's voice was icy. "Do you have next year's budget ready yet?"

"Abbott's still working on it. It's not as though he's having an easy time of it, considering what you've given us to work with."

"Perhaps this will make it a little easier. _Thomas_." Saltmarsh snapped his fingers impatiently, and his son produced a large file, which he handed over to Bonham. Her eyes widened as she scanned the pages. Warily, she looked back up at Saltmarsh, who was examining her closely.

"What is this?"

"Ministry investigators looked into the lives of your employees: they ran background checks, examined criminal records, studied each person's success rate as a Healer…the works. That report is the compilation of their findings. It is the Ministry's recommendations on who should remain employed, and who…" He paused, and peered at Bonham over steepled fingers. "…should not."

"But…" For the first time since she had sat down, Bonham looked completely flustered. "Rufus Edwards? Anna Gray? They're two of our best Healers, and both have been working here for over sixty years! Without them, the Magical Bugs Department will be completely adrift."

"As I said, the officials performing this investigation did not just delve into ability or experience as a Healer. Did you know those two before they began to work here at St. Mungo's? Obviously not. You never know who a person really is until you do a little…digging."

Bonham's eyes snapped back up towards Saltmarsh, a passionless, determined expression again resting over her face. "This isn't just a recommendation, is it?"

"No. It is not."

Thomas Saltmarsh shifted uncomfortably in his chair as a tense silence stretched between his father and Bonham. Finally, Bonham grabbed the papers in front of her, shuffling them into a neat stack before putting them carefully into one of her desk drawers.

"Very well," she said brusquely. "Is that all then? Thank you for your time."

"That is all for now." Saltmarsh stood and collected his things, but paused in the doorframe before leaving the room. "You're a smart witch, Theresa, from a long line of powerful witches and wizards. I do hope you'll figure it out. Just remember: no one is irreplaceable."

With a curt nod of his head and a rough gesture urging his son to follow after him, Saltmarsh disappeared into the hallway.

The office was silent. Bonham gazed absent-mindedly at the polished surface of her desk, rubbing her forehead. In the confines of the closet, Diane was suddenly aware of how loud her breath sounded, and hoped that Bonham didn't hear.

There seemed to be little danger: Bonham looked as though she were lost in her own world. For Diane, who was used to seeing the Chief-of-Staff always bustling busily about, Bonham's stillness was rather unnerving.

"Dammit!" she whispered suddenly, bringing a fist down heavily on the desk and making the tidy stacks of papers jump. One leaf of parchment fell off the desk and spun leisurely to the floor.

"Damn them!" she said louder. "Oh, damn all of them." She stood and braced herself against the edge of the desk for a moment before standing up tall. "Come on, then, Theresa," she muttered. "You've got a bloody hospital to run."

Charlie and Diane burst from the closet as soon as Bonham shut the door behind her, falling forward in an awkward tangle of limbs.

"Bit stuffy in that cupboard, wasn't it?" said Charlie, looking a bit flushed. "I thought for sure someone would notice us. I swear, that Edward Saltmarsh looked _right at_ us when he walked in. Hey…you alright? You look a bit pale."

Diane shook her head. "I'm fine. It's just…I dunno. This is all so strange. Hiding in a cupboard when I was working here just a couple of days ago. Anna Gray – in danger of being sacked? And I've never seen Ms. Bonham rattled like that – never."

"Hey, don't worry. That Bonham woman looks like she knows what she's doing. Your hospital will be fine. She seems to really care about you lot."

Diane chuckled softly. "That's Mama Theresa. Always looking after her cubs."

Charlie smiled at her. "So, what's next? I guess we should get out of here now that we have these." He hoisted up the metal box. "You're starting to look markedly less purple: I think that the effects of the Swelling Star are starting to wear off."

"Probably." She frowned. "I need to collect some potion ingredients before we leave. I'm worried about that burn of yours." Charlie pulled a face at her, but didn't protest. "We'll just run down the corridor to Potions and Plants and pray that Liz isn't there. Then we can leave."

Diane led the way out the room, walking quickly and quietly down the deserted corridor, checking over her shoulder to make sure Charlie followed closely. He was right: the effects of the Swelling Star were starting to wear off. She could see the red fuzz of hair on the top of his scalp, and his robes were no longer so tight across his chest.

She paused in front of the door, listening intently. "I don't hear anyone in there. Do you?"

Charlie shook his head, and she tested the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Inside, the room was dark. Glass vials rattled as Charlie bumped against a shelf.

"This shouldn't take too long," Diane whispered. "I do wish I'd figured out the way everything was organized in here earlier."

She was digging through the cabinets underneath Liz's worktable when she heard Charlie called out, "Diane!" in a rather panicked voice. There was a sudden crash, and as Diane turned here head to look, she felt the jabbing pain of a wand being held to her neck.

"Don't move a muscle," commanded a soft voice. "I'm warning you: I'm not having the best of weeks, and I would just love to hex someone right now. Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	8. Ostendolocus

Diane froze. The tip of the wand dug into her neck hard enough to bruise, forcing her into an awkward, bent-over position on her knees with her nose nearly touching the rim of the open drawer beneath her.

"Drop your wand," ordered the voice. Diane obeyed quickly, her heart sinking a few inches as the wood clattered against the ground. "Good. Now stand. Place your hands on the table."

As she rose, Diane turned her head subtly to the side and caught a glimpse of black curls and darkly flashing eyes.

"Liz!" she gasped, turning around before she could stop to think. Immediately, the other witch's wand was pointed unwaveringly between her eyes.

"I said don't move!" she snapped. "How do you know me? Who sent you?"

"Liz: it's Diane."

Liz's pale face seemed to grow even paler in anger. With bared teeth, she spat, "I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing…"

"Really. Liz, it's me: Diane." The wand was still held centimeters from her forehead. "No games. I've been stung by an Edemanemone. Charlie Weasley's here with me…" She glanced nervously around the room, looking for signs of Charlie. What had caused that crash…? "I swear on the cup of Helga Hufflepuff. You're my best friend: please believe me."

Slowly, the wand descended until it hung at her side, though Diane noticed that Liz still clenched it tightly. For a moment, they stared at each other.

"An Edemanemone, eh?" Liz finally said, and Diane breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you were a troll thug, hired by one of those sneaky arseholes at the Ministry. But I suppose an Edemanemone would also explain your…lovely appearance. Besides, I've not yet met a troll who could pronounce the proper name for the Swelling Star."

Diane bent down to retrieve her wand. "For a second there I thought you were really going to hex me."

Liz looked down her nose rather haughtily. "A hex would have been mild compared to what I planned to do to you. I meant it when I said I haven't had the best of weeks."

Without warning, Liz threw her arms around Diane's neck. Diane stumbled backwards under the weight of the taller woman. "I was so damn worried about you. Your ward was completely gutted; there was this fire, and all the patients had to be evacuated from the second floor. They had to bring in an Architectural Magic specialist afterwards to repair the damage, it was so bad."

Slightly disconcerted, Diane patted her friend awkwardly on the shoulder.

"And those dunderheads at the Ministry of Magic didn't do anything to find out what had happened to you! They pretended, but it was obvious that they weren't even trying. And for all I knew, you and Watson and your sister could have been dead or worse…"

"I don't think you can usually get much worse than dead," Diane said, extracting herself carefully from Liz's embrace. "Besides, I'm fine. Charlie showed up to rescue me and we got away somewhere safe."

"Oh, right." Liz bit her lip as if remembering something embarrassing. "Charlie."

"What did you do to him?"

"He's over near those book-cases. I kinda put him in a full-body bind."

Diane almost laughed. Knowing Liz, it could have been much worse. "'Kinda'? How do you 'kinda' put someone in a full-body bind? Is it actually a half-body bind? A three-quarters-body bind?"

"Shut up. I'll go perform the countercurse," muttered Liz, shoving past her.

Diane heard a whispered spell and then a grand commotion as Charlie tried to jump to his feet, scrabbling madly for his wand.

"There's nothing to worry about," she started to tell him, but he leaped in front of her, between her and Liz.

"She attacked us!" he exclaimed, his wand arm outstretched.

"Relax, Weasley," drawled Liz, leaning casually against her worktable. "You'd attack you, too, if you could see yourself. The two of you look like a pair of river trolls with a bad case of scrofungulus."

Charlie lowered his wand, scowling. "Glad to see you're still as sarcastic as ever, Blackwell."

She rolled her eyes in reply. "That wasn't sarcasm. You really do look frightful."

"Liz," Diane prompted impatiently. "Do you have any idea what's happened to Watson?"

Liz furrowed her brow. "No. I'm afraid I don't. I would have hoped that he was with you, but apparently that's not the case." She brightened again. "But I do have some information on the bastards that attacked you. It's not much, and a lot of it's conjecture, but it might help."

"Great!" said Charlie. "Let's hear it, then."

"I have notes and such at my place. Fancy a visit to my flat?" She held out her arm to Charlie. "We can talk there, and the two of you could even get a proper dinner and stay the night before cavorting off to some adventure or other."

Charlie looked to Diane, who nodded. Gingerly, he took Liz's elbow and, with a sharp crack, both disappeared. Holding back a smile, Diane followed after them, Apparating in front of Liz's sofa.

Liz's flat was more spacious and more expensively furnished than Diane's, but the clutter laying strewn about made the large living area seem much smaller.

"What in Merlin's name do you need all these blasted books for?" Charlie asked, stepping carefully around a tottering pile of tomes, but Liz, busy in front of a large desk in the next room, didn't seem to hear.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, appearing again laden with a rather messy stack of papers. "Here we are. You can try to clear off a space at the table if you'd like…er…perhaps it's best if we just sit at the couch…"

Brushing aside a pile of old _Daily Prophets_, Diane sat down next to Charlie.

"I say this every time you have me over, but you really ought to clean this place up a bit."

"Don't be ridiculous. I like it messy. Besides: it's not as though I don't know where everything is." Charlie gave a rather skeptical cough. "Do shut up, Weasley," Liz snapped, bustling over to an over-flowing bookshelf. "Neither of you minds if I use a Pensieve while we talk, do you? My flat may be untidy, but I prefer to keep my thoughts as clear as possible."

She shoved several ratty paperback romances off the shelf, and reached to push at the wall behind the bookcase. It gave way to reveal a small compartment bathed in a fluid, silvery light. Stretching her arm back into the hidden space, Liz withdrew a small bronze bowl etched with strange symbols, which she carried tenderly back over to the cluttered coffee table. After carefully clearing a space for it, she plopped down on the floor, leaning back against an expensively-upholstered ottoman.

"There we are," she sighed, swirling the filmy, mercurial contents of the bowl with the tip of her wand. The silver light danced across her thin features as Charlie and Diane looked to her expectantly. "I can't get anything done without my Pensieve."

"Actually," Charlie pointed out, "It looks like you're still not getting anything done."

Liz stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine. To business then." She shuffled through her papers absent-mindedly and began to speak. "I did some investigating after the attacks. I asked some questions, poked around a bit…" She paused and grinned. "I've always been awfully good at being nosy."

"I've noticed," muttered Diane under her breath.

"Anyway, I talked to Bethel – you know her, she's one of the Welcome Witches – and got a look at the sign-in sheet that they keep in the reception area. I actually made a copy of it with the Zerocso charm…hold on, I've got it here somewhere…" She dug through the pile of papers before finally producing a rather faded piece of parchment.

"Wait a moment," said Charlie. "Are you seriously saying that the folks who attacked St. Mungo's were stupid enough to _sign in_?"

"Yes," replied Liz happily. "But only because they thought no one would ever suspect them. Check this out." She held out the parchment for them to examine, pointing out four names near the bottom of the paper. "Look under the _"Reason for Visit"_ column."

Beside each of the four names that Liz indicated were written the words "Ministry of Magic Monthly Inspection" in a fiery, looping hand.

"There wasn't supposed to be a Ministry inspection this week. In fact, this month's _scheduled_ inspection is still two weeks away, according to Mark Abbott. And that's not all. The records of who the Ministry employs are open to the public, and I looked up these names. The people who were at St. Mungo's the day of the attack all work for the Department of Mysteries. There would be no reason for them to be at the hospital even if there was an inspection. Unspeakables don't do safety checks, no matter how tight money is."

Charlie nodded. "They didn't sign out either. Looks like they probably left in a hurry."

"And this fellow…" Liz pointed at one of the names. "This Goyle bloke doesn't look like he even belongs in the Department of Mysteries. He was only hired a couple of months ago, and he didn't have any credentials listed in the public records, which is unusual, to say the least."

Diane frowned, and Liz eyed her reproachfully. "Come on, Diane!" she exclaimed. "Take a leap of faith, for once in your life. You have to admit that it's awfully suspicious."

"Yeah," Diane replied slowly. "Suspicious. But I'm not sure it proves anything yet."

Liz thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Did you by any chance get a look at the people who attacked you?"

"Yeah." She felt a shiver run down her spine. "There was a woman: completely bald, with eyes like ink."

Liz brought her wand to the surface of the Pensieve. Closing her eyes, she stirred the silvery contents of the bowl. They flowed away from the tip of her wand like mist and rippled out like water before calming again to reveal a face with a black, glittering gaze and full, dark lips pushed firmly together. The head was shining and bald, in stark contrast with the full, dark lashes around those menacing eyes.

"That's her." Diane's voice was grim. "No doubt about it. How do you know her?"

"From some poking around I did at the Ministry of Magic headquarters," replied Liz coyly. "This is Valda Niflheim, originally from Norway, but now working as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. She's the first name on that list."

"Valda Niflheim," repeated Diane. She couldn't help but remember the expression on the woman's face as she had approached her with her wand drawn, the way she had bared her teeth like a hungry, wild animal as Diane knelt in front of her, wandless and vulnerable.

Niflheim's black eyes stared at her coldly from the surface of the Pensieve, and Diane shuddered.

"So the Ministry sent people to try to kill us. Wonderful." Charlie had a hard edge to his voice. "At least I know that Dad was right."

"I wonder how deep this goes," Diane mused. "Obviously, we know that something rotten is going on in the Department of Mysteries, but does it stop there? What about Shacklebolt? I don't know him very well, but I can't imagine that he would stand for this happening in his Ministry."

"Yeah." Charlie sounded thoughtful. "What about the finance stuff at St. Mungo's? Whatever that Saltmarsh bloke was talking about sounded kind of dodgy. D'you think he's in cahoots with whatever's going on?"

"Knowing Edward Saltmarsh, I wouldn't doubt it," said Liz darkly. Niflheim's face blurred out of focus in the Pensieve, to be replaced by Edward Saltmarsh's sharp features.

"What do you know about him?" inquired Charlie.

"Not that much," she admitted ruefully. "But I was…friends, in a way, with Thomas while we were at Hogwarts. He and his dad…didn't get on that well. I'm under the impression that the elder Saltmarsh is not a very pleasant person."

"You were chums with Saltmarsh at Hogwarts?" Charlie looked taken aback. "I barely remember even seeing him."

"You remember when the professors cracked down on bullying in our third year?"

"Yeah, sort of," Charlie replied. "Dumbledore addressed all the third years, didn't he? And they were really strict about casting spells in the corridors for _months_ after that."

Liz nodded. "That was because of Thomas. He got picked on by the other Slytherins a lot, and he ended up in the hospital wing in the winter of third year."

"Wow. I never knew."

"Yeah. For a long time, he and I were pretty close even though we were in different houses. I imagine it was kind of like the friendship between you and Diane, except with a lot less quidditch and a lot more heart-to-heart talks."

"Hey," said Charlie brightly. "We had plenty of heart-to-heart – _ow!_"

Diane elbowed him roughly.

Liz glanced at the two of them, one eyebrow raised, and then shook her head. "Eventually, the other Slytherins seemed to back off. I don't really know why, but whatever the reason, he started associating with me a lot less and with them a lot more. We never really broke off our friendship – I mean, I am a pureblooded Ravenclaw; there's no reason for a Slytherin not to spend time with me – but I hadn't seen him in ages before today." Liz traced a finger thoughtfully along the surface of the Pensieve, and Edward Saltmarsh's features changed gradually into those of his son. "I think Edward Saltmarsh is trouble. I just hope that Thomas isn't caught up in it too."

She gazed thoughtfully down at Thomas' face, and then blinked rapidly several times and looked up at Charlie and Diane. A smirk crossed her face. "You two look like you're back to normal now. Those robes look much bigger on you than they're supposed to."

Glancing at Charlie, Diane found that her friend was right. Charlie's face looked like Charlie's face again: freckled and strong-boned instead of fleshy and green, with a shock of close-cropped red hair hovering over his forehead. His robes did look as though they had been considerably stretched out, though not as much as her own robes felt. The neck of her robes was now so wide that it threatened to slip over her shoulders.

"I'll go find you something else to put on so you don't have to keep wearing that circus tent," sniggered Liz. "I think I've actually got some of your Mungo's greens that you let me borrow after that fiasco with the Chromatic Concoction. Then again, lime green probably isn't the best choice if you're trying to go undetected. Don't worry, I'll find something."

Diane let her eyes close and her head fall back against the back of the sofa as Liz disappeared into another room. Charlie eyed her concernedly.

"You alright?"

She glanced at him through half-closed eyelids. "We're not about to have a heart-to-heart chat, if that's what you're wondering."

Charlie looked hurt. "I just asked a question. A lot has happened to you in the last couple of days."

Diane squeezed her eyes shut again. "I'm just tired. And worried."

"About Watson?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed. "I'm terrified that they're hurting him, that he's injured or dead already. And I'm frustrated because I have _no idea_ how to rescue him. I don't know what's going on, I don't have a plan…" She stopped, bringing a hand up to massage her temples.

"Hey, it's alright. Everything's going to work out." Charlie stretched his feet out onto the coffee table lazily.

Diane opened her eyes and turned to face him. "You Gryffindors and your stupid optimism. You may do well without thinking ahead; you may be able to drop everything and go gallivanting off to bloody _Romania_ at a moment's notice, but _I_ need a plan, a schedule, some idea of what the _hell_ I'm going to do before I do it." Diane felt her cheeks getting flushed. She knew that she should stop speaking, that she was letting her emotions and her exhaustion get the better of her, but she plowed on anyway. "You don't get it. I'm not brave like you are. I'm not brave at all. I just want to go back to my stupid little flat, to my stupid little life where I know exactly what my day is going to be like. But you know what? I _can't_. I'm stuck here on this mad adventure, and I don't even bloody _like_ adventure."

"You don't have to stay." Diane looked at him incredulously. "Really. You can't go back to your flat and St. Mungo's, but we can arrange to take you somewhere where you'll be protected. We could even find you a job. You could have a life again: a safe, predictable life. You don't have to come along with me. You don't have to do this."

Reigning in her feelings and her fear, Diane swallowed, and spoke again in a much more controlled voice. "But that's just it. I _do_ have to do this. I let my actions put Watson in danger, and it's my responsibility to make sure he comes out of it safe. I have to find him. I don't have a choice."

"You do have a choice," Charlie said, glancing at her with serious eyes. "You may be choosing to come along now even though you don't really want to, but you can always change your mind. You have a choice."

Diane let her head fall back against the couch again and sighed.

"And if it make any difference to you, I think you're plenty brave." Diane looked over at him, and he caught her eye and smiled cheekily. She let out a small chuckle.

"That's rich. Me, brave." She sighed again and rubbed her temples. "I just want to know that Watson is still alive."

"So cast the Tracking Charm."

Diane felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint sounds of Liz rooting around in the other room. Charlie looked at her questioningly.

"I'm afraid to," she admitted at last, gazing grudgingly at the ceiling. "What if it doesn't work? What if he's dead?"

"Then that's the way things are," Charlie said softly. "You're going to cast it, though, because if I know anything about you, Diane McKenna, I know that you hate feeling as though you're shirking your duty, and you hate leaving questions unanswered."

Diane looked up sharply, surprised by the challenge in Charlie's voice. For a moment, she felt like she was back on the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, shaking Charlie's hand in the face of a screaming crowd, watching him chuckle at her steely face with a glint in his eye.

"Fine," she said, her voice hard. "Give me that damn box."

She began digging through it, ignoring Liz as she reentered the room.

"I've got some muggle clothes and an old traveling cloak that should fit you pretty well. I'm several inches taller than you, of course, but you can cast a hemming charm if you'd like. I never did bother to learn any of those little household charms…" She glanced at Diane, who was still searching through the box for the sample of Watson's blood. "What's that you've got?"

When Diane didn't answer, Charlie spoke up. "Blood samples, from all of Mungo's employees. That's what we were doing in St. Mungo's – stealing employee records so we can cast a Tracking Charm to find Watson."

"Oh, that's fantastic. Very clever." Liz's brow furrowed. "Wait, you're not leaving now, are you?"

"Afraid so," replied Diane, closing the box. She stood up, holding the glass slide containing Watson's blood gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.

"Diane, it's late. It's dark. Do you really want to go running off into Merlin-knows what kind of danger? Just stay the night. There's plenty of room. You can leave first thing in the morning."

Diane felt her jaw clench. "I'm sick of not knowing if he's alive or not."

"Then cast the spell. If he's dead, it won't work. You're exhausted, though. I can see it in your face. Stay here and sleep for a few hours before going rushing off into danger."

Diane pushed down the urge to stubbornly ignore the sense in Liz's words. Her friend was right; she wasn't going to do Watson any good if she was too tired to see straight. "Alright," she conceded. "But I'm going to cast the tracking charm now; I have to know."

"You'll want Charlie to say the charm with you. Tracking charms reveal the way to the person you're trying to find, but only to those who cast the charm." She glanced at Charlie. "It's alright, dunderhead. You just have to say the words with her. It'll work even if you haven't been trained how to cast the spell properly on your own."

"Okay." Charlie drew his wand. "What do I do?"

Diane placed the small glass slide on the coffee table and removed the cover slip. "Just point at the blood, and say _'Ostendolocus'_ when I do."

"Right. _Ostendolocus. Ostendolocus. _Ready?"

Diane bit her lip and nodded. "Ready. On the count of three. One...two...three..._Ostendolocus_!"

There was a faint cracking sound and a flash of light. The blood on the slide began to glow a pale gold, and then a beam of golden light inched its way out from the little spot of blood, extending out, parallel from the floor, and pointing straight through the wall of Liz's living room.

"Is it working?" Liz asked breathlessly.

Diane nodded, feeling her shoulders sag with relief. "Yeah. He's alive, and he's that way." She pointed towards the beam of light.

Charlie clapped her warmly on the shoulder. "We'll find him and rescue him. First thing tomorrow. Don't you worry about it."

As she slept that night, Diane dreamed of golden ribbons tying her to a faraway Watson, and of faces dancing in puddles of silver memories.

* * *

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